


If love is a journey, what we have is an odyssey

by Lesatha



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Blow Jobs, Courfeyrac being Courfeyrac, Enjolras Is Bad At Feelings, Fluff and Angst, Frottage, Kidnapping, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Minor Character Death, Non-Consensual Touching, Organized Crime, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Child Abuse, Prostitution, Smoking, Swearing, Torture, Voyeurism, not explicit yet but it will come quickly, very light breath play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-17
Updated: 2014-10-08
Packaged: 2018-01-25 12:10:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 51,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1648172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lesatha/pseuds/Lesatha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras reluctantly hires a prostitute to please Courfeyrac and his men. And reluctantly falls in love with said prostitute. Really, that's all Courfeyrac's fault.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a modern AU in fictional Paris, where brothels still exist.

“What?!”

“Courfeyrac, please. I’m tired.”

“But, no more brothels, Enjolras? What do you mean, no more brothels?”

Enjolras pinches the bridge of his nose and falls back in his seat.

“I mean no more brothels. We cannot risk it anymore.”

Courfeyrac stops pacing and briefly fists both hands in his own hair, the very image of despair.

“But we worked so well! We’ve never worked so well before! We deserve some respite!”

Enjolras could swear Courfeyrac’s eyes start watering. He glances at Combeferre, who is sitting quietly in a corner with a book on his lap. He’s pointedly avoiding Enjolras’ eyes but a small smile is playing on his lips.

“I know” he sighs. “But we cannot risk the exposure, at least for a few weeks. We cannot afford to be vulnerable and my men in a brothel… I consider that a significant moment of vulnerability, Courfeyrac.”

Courfeyrac sits opposite to Enjolras, planting his elbows on the desk. His eyes are definitely watering.

“Okay, well. You have a point. But can we at least get someone to come here? Not often, just when we really need to relax and –”

“No. No contact with anyone we don’t know and can’t trust.”

Enjolras hates it when he has to take choices from his men. It doesn’t happen often but they are in a difficult situation. Besides, Courfeyrac can survive without sex for a few weeks.

“You can survive without sex for a few weeks.”

Courfeyrac throws his hands dramatically in the air.

“This is… God, Enjolras, this is not just sex. This is sex with the best fuck I’ve ever had in my whole life! It becomes addictive, I swear.”

“You are exaggerating again.”

“No, I’m not. Ferre, help me!”

At last, Combeferre raises his gaze from his book and calmly looks at them. 

“I have to admit that it gets addictive” he finally says.

It smells of defeat. It really does when Combeferre starts to side with Courfeyrac’s crazy ideas.

“I am truly sorry for both of you –”

“You can be sorry for Bahorel too” Courfeyrac interrupts.

“But –”

“And Jehan.”

“I won’t –”

“And Feuilly.”

“Change my mind. God, even Feuilly? Do you all sleep with this whore?”

“Technically, we don’t sleep with him. Listen Enjolras, I get it that we have to be careful. All I am asking is for R, this whore, as you put it, to come here. Permanently.”

Enjolras chokes. He turns to Combeferre for support but his best friend doesn’t seem shocked by the idea. Enjolras would rather say delighted. Unbelievable. He turns back to Courfeyrac.

“So, you want a whore to live with us in this mansion? Just so that you can fuck?”

“Well, that’s kind of his job” Combeferre says, looking back at his book again.

“You’re not helping. Courf, come on. When I say no one we cannot trust, I include prostitutes.”

“But we know R, we’ve known him for a few years. He is trustworthy, and we spent so much time with him, you could say he’s almost part of the gang.”

“Courfeyrac, please be reasonable. Combeferre…”

“I think we should put this to vote” Combeferre says with a thoughtful look on his face, like he’s thinking of a particularly sweet memory.

“Combeferre!”

Enjolras feels like throwing up. He lost this battle, that much is clear.

“More than half of the gang slept with him. Of course you’re all going to vote for yes.”

Courfeyrac practically throws himself over the desk.

“Is that a yes? It sounds like a yes to me. Combeferre, what do you think?”

“It definitely is a reluctant yes.”

Enjolras waves his hand in defeat and Courfeyrac jumps out of his seat, restraining himself at the very last second from hugging his leader. That would be pushing his luck.

“I have one condition though,” Enjolras warns. “I want to see him and I want to be the one concluding the… affair with him.”

Courfeyrac is beaming and Combeferre hums over his book.

“I was hoping you would say that, dear leader. Let’s go then, you will love him. Believe me.”

Enjolras sighs one more time.

 

The brothel is full of life and much too noisy for Enjolras’ liking. Courfeyrac insisted that they go there without waiting and Enjolras couldn’t find the strength to disagree. He merely asked Combeferre to stay home and tell the other about their possible future arrangement. The sooner, the better. He scans the room and tries to hide his disdain as much as he can.

“So… which one of this… depraved people is your fabulous R?”

“The most depraved of them all!” someone shouts cheerfully behind them.

They turn and Courfeyrac lunges forward, throwing himself at a young man, kissing him passionately. Enjolras crosses his arms and waits for them to part. When they do, after awfully long seconds, he can finally get a look at R. He is young, and that is Enjolras first surprising discovery. He hasn’t pictured him so young. Also, he is cute, somehow. Cute is the last word Enjolras would have thought of using to describe a prostitute. That might be because of the wild black curls flowing in every direction. He also has a long scar, running down diagonally from under the corner of his left eye to his hairline. Enjolras gets a weird feeling of déjà vu. He suddenly realizes that he has been staring and that it should be embarrassing, but R is staring too, unblinking and a little open-mouthed. 

“Enjolras, this is R. R, my dear leader.”

R seems to come back to earth and flashes Enjolras a bright smile. He is about to say something when Enjolras beats him to it.

“We have something to discuss. Would you have a quieter place than… this?”

R sends a questioning look to Courfeyrac, who just shrugs.

“Well, I like it straightforward too. Come, follow me.”

He leads them to a staircase and upstairs, where Enjolras can see less half-naked girls and boys running around. They follow R along a corridor and he uses the opportunity to study him more closely. He’s almost naked, with only a black loincloth tied around his waist. He is also wearing a (probably fake) golden laurel crown. Now that Enjolras thinks about it, he has seen many crowns like this in the brothel.

“Why are you all dressed like that?” he asks.

“Enjolras, use your imagination, just once” Courfeyrac chuckles.

R looks like he doesn’t know if he can’t believe it or if he wants to laugh. Probably both.

“Are you for real?” he asks Enjolras. “Nevermind. We’re having a Roman party. A kind of orgy, but I’m not sure you have enough imagination for this concept. However, if we had known Apollo himself would visit us, we would have waited for you.”

Enjolras looks outraged and Courfeyrac has to bite on his fist to stifle his laugh. R leads them into a room eventually and closes the door behind them. He goes to the bed and lies there on his side, legs crossed casually.

“So, what did you want to discuss? Not an orgy, I believe?”

“It’s not our main point, but we can also –”

“I was told recently that you know many of my men.”

Enjolras crosses the room and stops in front of R, towering above the bed. R gives him a lopsided grin.

“I did encounter some of them. I didn’t know Apollo himself was their leader though.”

“For business-related reasons, we would need you to perform your services at home with us. Of course, you would be really well-paid.”

R laughs, waiting for them to laugh with him but they remain frighteningly serious. He sits up on the bed.

“You’re not joking? You want a prostitute at home to put you to bed? No offense, but that sounds weird. A bit scary on the edge.”

Courfeyrac steps forward.

“Think about it, R. You would be doing what you usually do, but with less people and more money. Oh, and you will love the place.”

R’s gaze shifts repeatedly between the two of them and he keeps biting his lower lip. Then he nods slowly.

“Good” Enjolras says. “Where is your pimp? Do we have to sign papers for you to get out?”

R scoffs.

“I don’t have a pimp. I’m free to go whenever I want. When should I come to your place?”

“Now?” Courfeyrac asks in a pleading tone.

“Hmm, I’m deeply desired then. Okay, let me get my things and tell some people I’m leaving, I won’t be long. Unless one of you wants a quick fuck to celebrate?”

Enjolras swears under his breath. These weeks are going to be very, very long.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire briefly meets Les Amis and shares a nice moment with Bahorel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That chapter is a bit slow and sexy times got delayed, but next chapter should fix that.

When they get back to the mansion, Enjolras summons everyone for a quick meeting, even though it’s getting really late. They all take a sit around a big, circular table and add one chair for R, who doesn’t seem that much impressed by all this.

Enjolras is the last one to sit down, flanked by Combeferre on his right and Courfeyrac on his left. R is sitting next to Courfeyrac, so he can’t really see him.

“Thank you everyone. I promise this won’t take long.”

“Yeah, I hope it won’t” Eponine mutters while playing with a sharp knife. She sends Enjolras a murderous glare. “I’ve been up for more than thirty-six hours now, so please be concise.”

Enjolras shrugs.

“You can blame Courfeyrac later. Everyone, this is R. R, we are Les Amis de l’ABC. I don’t expect you to know who –”

R snorts and leans so that he can look at Enjolras.

“Be careful with what you expect from me, Apollo.”

A shiver seems to run around the table, passing from one Ami to another. Eponine smirks and discreetly nudges Jehan in the ribs. She can feel his whole body repressing a chuckle.

“Besides, I know the Amis. Everyone does in this town. Everyone likes to talk about the Robin Hoods of Modern Times.”

Enjolras frowns.

“Is that what people call us?”

“No. That’s how I call you. We can make a deal about the copyright if you want to use that name someday.”

“We’re trying to stay low these days” Enjolras counters. “So let’s just forget about ridiculous nicknames.”

“I believe he was joking. But it does sound a little epic,” Courfeyrac chimes in. “Like one of Jehan’s poems.”

R sends Jehan an affectionate look.

“Your poems always light up my days, dear Jehan. After Courf’s delicate puns, of course,” R teases. He glances at Enjolras, who’s trying – and failing – to look patient. “Okay guys, let’s make this quick, I’m sure we all had a busy day. For those who don’t have the pleasure of knowing me, I’m R, or Grantaire, whatever you prefer. I’m here for your… pleasure, actually.”

R gets up and gives them a mischievous little bow.

“Consider me your devious stress relief.”

There’s a roar of approval coming from Bahorel, and more measured pleased reactions from those who know Grantaire. That is to say, all of them, except for Joly, Eponine and Bossuet who don’t even seem intrigued. They’ve heard so many rants from Courfeyrac about Grantaire that he’s not a complete stranger.

Bahorel spontaneously gets up and comes to Grantaire, squeezing his shoulder to greet him.

“It’s getting late, my friend. Enjolras, can I show his room to our stress relief?”

Enjolras simply nods and Grantaire barely has time to grab his bag before Bahorel drags him out of the room.

“Goodnight, everyone!” Grantaire shouts. “Enjoy your last peaceful night!”

He winks shamelessly at Enjolras just before he gets out of sight, so he can’t see the disbelieving stare that earns him.

Bahorel leads him through too many corridors, and Grantaire knows deep down that he will never find his way back tomorrow morning. He snakes an arm around the tall man’s waist and leans against him while they walk. The top of his head barely reaches Bahorel’s shoulder. Bahorel rests a broad arm around his neck and brings him closer.

“I thought I was dreaming when Ferre told us about this,” he says. “I still can’t believe Enjolras agreed.”

“If you want it to feel a bit more real, he looks like he’s going to throw up every time I talk to him.”

They turn abruptly to climb a staircase and Grantaire almost misses the first step.

“Don’t worry, R. He’ll warm up to you eventually. Literally.” Bahorel shakes him playfully. “Everyone does.”

“Fuck you” Grantaire mutters, but he smiles nonetheless.

Bahorel stops in front of a huge door. Well, at least it’s huge according to Grantaire’s standards. He releases Grantaire’s shoulders to push the double-door open in a grandiose way. Grantaire follows him in and can’t refrain from gaping. Fuck his standards, that bedroom his more than huge. There’s a four-poster bed in the middle of it and Grantaire just wants to run and jump on it like a five years old.

“Oh my…”

He never ends his sentence. Bahorel grabs him swiftly and hauls him off the ground, almost throwing him over his shoulder. He drops his bag and the world starts spinning and suddenly Grantaire is bouncing on the mattress, limbs tangled with Bahorel’s. Grantaire laughs and rolls over to rest on Bahorel.

“You’re a child in a giant’s body, I swear.”

Bahorel pinches his cheek softly and Grantaire bats his hand away.

“Please, R. You were dying to do it.”

A comfortable silence settles in. Grantaire could happily fall asleep like this, lulled by Bahorel’s breathing. Eventually, he feels the big man stirring under him. He clenches his thighs around Bahorel’s waist.

“Won’t you stay with me?” he whispers, face buried in Bahorel’s neck. “You can’t possibly have someone to kill at this hour of the night.”

“R…” Bahorel sighs. “You’re not supposed to know about that.”

“If you guys think your activities go unnoticed, you’re massively delusional.”

“No, what I meant was more like, you’re not supposed to talk about that. Enjolras wouldn’t like it.”

Grantaire raises his head sharply and narrows his eyes, a sign Bahorel knows too well and would give anything to avoid.

“So, I am truly here to get fucked and shut my mouth?”

“I am not sure about the shut mouth part if you see what I – ouch!”

Grantaire punches him in the ribs and sits up completely, staring him down.

“You deserved it. Asshole.”

“Fucking hell, you and Ponine are going to be best friends. My worst nightmare come true.”

Grantaire purses his lips and moves to leave the bed, but Bahorel catches his wrist and draws him back to him.

“Don’t sulk. I will stay with you. Leaving you alone in a big house you don’t know would be cruel of me.”

Grantaire stiffens.

“Don’t make fun of this” he simply says.

“I wasn’t teasing, R. I will cuddle you all night long if you want.”

Grantaire’s face lights up within a second.

“A cuddle night? Man, I love you, seriously.”

Bahorel rolls his eyes.

“And you dare calling me a child. You cuddle addict.”

Grantaire jumps off the bed and rummages through his bag forgotten on the floor. 

“Yes, I need to work on that, I know. But not tonight.”

He finally holds up his toothbrush triumphantly and he looks so much like a child right then that Bahorel wants to overwhelm him with hug.

“Is there a bathroom in your castle? Preferably one for which I won’t have to walk twenty minutes?”

Bahorel points to a door on the other side of the room. Grantaire raises his eyebrows and cross the room, pushing the door hesitantly.

“Are you fucking kidding me? This is awesome!”

Without a look back, he goes in and closes the door. Bahorel lets out a deep contended breath. To be honest, he doesn’t know a lot about R. When they had time to talk, Grantaire would always listen to Bahorel and didn’t seem willing to do anything else. Bahorel had just gathered from scattered info – and intuition – that he had had a shitty life. So, if he could give him a little happiness with cuddles and a big bathroom, he wouldn’t think twice about it.  
He gets rid of his clothes and dives under the fluffy quilt covering the bed. Grantaire comes back after a while, hair and skin still damp. Bahorel smirks – Grantaire didn’t even bother wrapping a towel around his waist. He could spend every night with this man. Oh yes, he could.

“You didn’t lose time” Grantaire says while slipping under the quilt.

Bahorel maneuvers him so that Grantaire’s back is flush against his own chest. He throws one arm other Grantaire’s chest and the curly haired man presses back against him, curling up on himself. Bahorel imitates him and engulfs him with his body heat.

“Whatever happens R, no one will hurt you here.”

Grantaire doesn’t answer, only grabs his hand and threads their fingers together.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bahorel's day starts quite well, Eponine isn't a morning person, and Enjolras and Grantaire are still testing the water. In their own way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a short passage with a character wondering about possible dubious consent but just to make it totally clear, they are all fully consenting, so I didn't tag it.

Grantaire wakes up to the feeling of something hard pressed against his lower back. He smirks and pushes back slowly, once, twice, making every little movement count. When he only gets a sleepy moan in return, he reaches back with one hand and grasps Bahorel’s cock. He wraps one finger after the other around it and starts pumping at a slow pace. Bahorel stirs behind him and Grantaire pictures him blinking his eyes open haggardly and he can’t help laughing.

“Shit, R… One day you’re going to kill me.”

“You very obviously needed it. If you have complaints, address them to your cock, since that’s what woke me up.”

Bahorel squeezes his hipbone.

“No no, no complaints.”

“Good. Now roll on your back.”

“Hmm?”

Grantaire turns around much too quickly for someone who’s barely awakened and pushes Bahorel on his back. He throws the quilt aside and lies between Bahorel’s legs. He strokes him again and then, takes the head in his mouth. He swirls his tongue around it and Bahorel’s hands shot up to grab his hair.

“Oh dear God, don’t stop, never stop…”

Grantaire swallows him more and moves his head up and down, not quite taking him in completely but getting there slowly. Bahorel can’t think of anything, only barely remembers to keep from pulling on R’s hair. He’s painfully hard and his thighs are shaking. Then Grantaire swallows him down, bobs his head twice and Bahorel doesn’t have time to warn him, just comes hard. He’s too far gone to be sure, but he thinks he feels him laugh around his cock. When Grantaire is done swallowing his come, he lets go of Bahorel’s cock and crawls up to rest on his chest.

“Damn, R. You’re so good at this, I just lost my last shred of dignity. It lasted like what… Five minutes all in all?”

“This is your new record” Grantaire chuckles.

“Do you want me to return the favor? I won’t equal your skills but –”

Grantaire shakes his head.

“Nah, I’m good. I don’t have your energy in the morning.”

He gets up to put his clothes on and indeed, Bahorel can see that he isn’t hard at all. Somehow, it makes his heart twist, reminding him that Grantaire is only doing his job. That he doesn’t always get pleasure in it. Maybe he got too used to it? Or maybe he was disgusted?

“Hey, stop making that face” R says gently. “Did I make you uneasy?”

Bahorel gets up and dresses as well.

“No, of course not. I… please, don’t ever feel forced to do something you don’t want to. You’re always free to choose.”

R frowns.

“Of course. And this morning, I chose to make you feel good.”

He grins and punches Bahorel’s shoulder.

“Come on, I’m starving.”

 

The kitchen is almost empty, save for Eponine nursing a cup of coffee. She nods at Bahorel and Grantaire when they come in, and she keeps a studying gaze on the newcomer while Bahorel leads him through drawers and cupboards. Grantaire makes himself some coffee and comes to sit in front of Eponine.

“So Eponine, right? Did you sleep well?” he asks cheerfully.

She grunts.

“Oh, not a morning person I guess.”

If looks could kill, Grantaire would bet that he would already have suffered a long and painful death.

“Guys, I need to go,” Bahorel declares. “I have work to do with Courf and Joly. Ponine please, be nice with R.”

He leaves and Grantaire fights to keep from squirming under Eponine’s stare. After interminable minutes, she takes her long knife from apparently nowhere and puts it on the table.

“I warn you now and I will only do it once: if you are a spy, or if you do anything against us, I will gut you.”

Grantaire takes the knife and twirls it skillfully between his fingers.

“Seems fair to me” he says, and hands it back to her.

She smiles and puts the knife back to its secret place.

“So, what on earth led you to agree with all this?” she asks, and there’s genuine interest in her voice.

He shrugs.

“Why wouldn’t I? Your friends are good men. You might not realize it, but it means a lot in my… profession.”

“Maybe we’re not as good as you think” she whispers.

“Because you gut people?”

He says it in a dramatic conspiracy tone and she laughs.

“Listen, I know you guys are not saints. You wouldn’t control half of this fucking city if you were.” He is truly serious now. “But you do some good things too.”

“Well, we are going through nasty times these days. It might be dangerous for you to be on our side.”

They hear the sound of footsteps approaching the kitchen and Enjolras appears a few seconds later, his curly blond hair tied back with a red ribbon. Grantaire nearly chokes on his coffee.

“R, it was nice talking to you. I have a busy day ahead, but I can’t wait for our next talk about gutting people.”

She sends him a brief salute and leaves. He remains here with Enjolras and it’s getting awkward. On Grantaire’s side at least, because Enjolras is too busy shuffling through the shelves to pay attention to him. Grantaire wants to make a silly joke when the blond leader settles in front of him with a bowl of cereals, but he really doesn’t want to be gutted today. He decides to be wise and remains silent, going to the sink to wash his cup.

“Tell me, R, what do you plan on doing today?”

Gantaire’s hand stills above the sponge.

“Hum… I. I haven’t thought about it yet to be honest. I’ll do what you need me to do.”

“Anything?”

“… Pretty much.”

Grantaire turns and his heart jumps in his chest. Enjolras is standing there, so close that he can almost feel his breath on his skin. Grantaire holds his stare, even though he would much rather run away.

“What if I asked you to black my boots?”

“I would.”

Enjolras leans closer.

“What if I asked you to leave?”

“I would.”

“What if…” Enjolras puts his hands on each side of Grantaire’s waist, crowding him against the sink. “What if I asked you to kneel and suck me, like the bitch you are?”

Grantaire looks down.

“I would” he whispers. He looks up again and pushes against Enjolras, raising his chin defiantly. “But call me a bitch again and you’ll regret it, fearless leader or not.”

Enjolras steps back, crossing his arms. Grantaire can’t quite decipher what’s in his eyes… could it be satisfaction? Or… approval?

“Very well. I have no use for you today. You’re free to visit the mansion if it suits you. You can go out if you want, but not alone. Jehan probably has enough time to accompany you.”

“It’s nice of you to give me a bodyguard, Apollo. I can take care of myself though.”

“It’s not for your safety” Enjolras says coldly. “I just don’t trust you.”

 

Jehan is in the middle of cleaning his favorite gun when a knock on the door interrupts him.

“Come in!” he shouts, not bothering to leave his armchair.

To his surprise, Enjolras steps in. Usually, their leader buries himself in his work from sunrise and doesn’t bother to pay them a courtesy call during the day. Well, perhaps it’s not a courtesy call.

“Is there something wrong?”

“No no, don’t worry” Enjolras answers hastily, leaning against Jehan’s desk. “Have you heard anything about the situation in town?”

Their mansion is a little on the outside of Paris, but thanks to Bossuet and Courfeyrac’s skills, they managed to hack into the camera monitoring system of the city. Thousands of cameras giving them precious information nonstop. They can’t study every view in detail, but they can still monitor their main points of interests.

“I think everything’s calm, for now. Why?”

Enjolras adopts a relaxed stance, but Jehan can read him like an open book. He has something on his mind.

“Nothing serious. Grantaire wants to go to town to buy a sketchbook. Or paint, whatever. Since you know him well, I thought you could go with him. To, you know, keep an eye on him. Be sure he won’t sell us.”

“And protect him.”

“Yeah, that too.”

Jehan puts his half-mounted gun down.

“As you said it Enjolras, I know R pretty well. Okay, maybe not that much, ‘cause he’s really guarded sometimes. Still, I feel that he wouldn’t betray us.”

Enjolras looks like he desperately wants to believe him but won’t allow himself to do so.

“I hope you’re right.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jehan and Grantaire get in trouble (but they are quick to get out of it), and Eponine doesn't approve of Enjolras' behaviour.

“R, slow down. You have much longer legs than me.”

Jehan has been trying to keep up with his pace for the last twenty minutes, since they parked the car. Grantaire is leading him through narrow, charming streets Jehan hasn’t even heard of before.

“Come on, Jehan! The shop isn’t far.”

His excitement is contagious and Jehan shakes his head fondly. Grantaire was right; they arrive in front of an old shop, 19th century style. Grantaire pushes him inside and as soon as he’s in, Jehan understands R’s impatience right away. The shop is full of pencils, paints, canvasses, paintbrushes and so on. It’s magical, really. And a nice change from guns and knives.

“Don’t drool, Jehan” Grantaire teases.

He turns and disappears between shelves presenting hundreds of different tubes of paint. Jehan tries to stay close behind, but it’s hard to stay focused. They are probably safe here – that part of Paris is under their control – and Jehan didn’t notice anyone following them. Anyway, who would look for them in that king of shop? R is still probably unknown to all their enemies, and no one except the Amis knows that Jehan has a thing for art.

“Jehan, check these notebooks! Wouldn’t you like to keep your poems safe in one of them?”

Grantaire hands him a leather notebook, closed by a black leather ribbon wrapped several times around it.

“I think it would suit you” he adds.

Jehan takes the notebook and runs his fingers over it, enjoying the smooth feeling of the leather. Okay, it might be a little cliché for a poet – if he can call himself a poet – but Grantaire is right. He loves it. They compare it with other notebooks, debating whether he should go for a simple one or another more elaborate with butterflies on it. Jehan loses track of time, until he feels his phone buzzing in his pocket. Enjolras. Jehan picks up, feeling a little guilty.

“Enjolras. I’m sorry, I forgot to text you… yes, we’re fine… I know it’s been more than an hour.”

Grantaire leans to whisper in his ear.

“Tell mother hen I didn’t try to stab you with a paintbrush yet.”

Jehan stifles a laugh.

“What? No, nothing Enjolras. That was R… yeah, he’s behaving… yes, we’ll be back soon.”

Jehan hangs up and walks to Grantaire, who started wandering between the shelves during the end of the phone-call.

“I was supposed to text him when we arrived in town. Security measure,” he explains.

Grantaire picks up a sketchbook, studies the quality of the paper.

“Hm. I think I should be proud to make someone so wary about me. The leader of Les Amis, no less. I didn’t believe I’m that impressive.”

“It’s not like that.” Jehan ignores his friend’s disbelieving glance. “He also cares about your safety.”

“Sure.”

They stay a few more minutes and then go to pay for a sketchbook and the already beloved leather notebook. Once outside, Jehan tugs Grantaire by his elbow.

“Follow me, there’s a place I want to show you.”

They walk until they reach a little café.

“This is the café Musain. We used to come here when we were a much smaller… er, organization.”

They sit in the terrace, where they can enjoy the warmth of the sun. A woman with kind brown eyes comes to them.

“Hi Musichetta!” Jehan exclaims.

She bends to hug him.

“Jehan. It’s been so long. I see you brought a friend?”

“Yes, this is Grantaire.”

Musichetta smiles broadly.

“Oh, the famous R! I’ve heard a lot about you, when they still bothered to pay me a visit once in a while.”

Jehan gives her an apologetic smile.

“We’ll try to come more often, I promise.”

“Yes, as always. What can I get you, boys?”

They order coffee for Grantaire and Jehan settles for a tea, and that will always make Grantaire smile inwardly. They stay silent for a while, alternatively taking sips of their drinks.

“It’s a good thing you moved in the mansion” Jehan eventually says. “And I’m not talking about the Courfeyrac Deal. We need someone like you.”

Grantaire twists his mouth.

“I’m nothing special. You will all get bored real quick.”

“R…”

“Anyway, how did things turn so bad for you guys? I mean, you need a whore at home, that’s quite telling.”

Jehan hesitates for a second before he answers.

“Keeping Paris safe is as hard as it sounds. Montparnasse’s gang is now strongly established in the other part of the city, but I’m sure you already knew that. He’s getting harder to counter with every passing day.”

“So I heard. Let’s hope your golden leader will lead you to victory, otherwise... well we’d rather find another city.”

Jehan squeezes his hand.

“We’re not defeated yet.”

They promptly change subjects, finding much more distraction discussing art and poetry. They are debating whether Alfred de Musset writes better about emotion than Chateaubriand when Jehan notices men approaching them from the corner of his eye.

“Shit” he mutters. “Let me do the talking.”

Grantaire looks at the three men strolling on over their table. Without asking, they take chairs and sit down with them. Grantaire glances at Jehan, who displays a blank face.

“Claquesous” he says coldly. “I don’t think you’re supposed to be here.”

“Aw, Jehan, don’t be like that. We’re just having a walk in a lovely neighborhood, nothing more. We didn’t think we would have the pleasure to meet you.”

His men chuckle.

“Let me buy you a drink” he adds. “As a first step towards cooperation.”

“We don’t want cooperation. Not with you. Now, go the fuck away.”

“No need to be rude, my dear boy. Introduce me to your friend instead, he might be more pleasant than you are.”

One of Claquesous’ men rests his hand on Grantaire’s thigh.

“I think I know this one. His face’s familiar.”

Grantaire pushes his hand away.

“Thankfully, yours is not” he hisses.

Claquesous makes a disapproving sound.

“Manners, boy. It’s true though, you remind me of someone. There’s something about your scar…”

He reaches out to touch Grantaire’s scar, but the curly haired man is quicker. In a swift movement, he grabs Claquesous’ arm with one hand and pins it on the table. With his other hand, he draws a flick-knife from his back pocket and sticks it through Claquesous’ palm. The man screams and the few people sitting at the terrace scramble away.

“You don’t get to touch me” R snarls.

Jehan gets up before the others can move and draws the gun originally tucked under his waistband.

“It’s time for you to be reasonable and go away. I won’t say it twice.”

Grantaire waits until Claquesous grunts his surrender, then takes his knife back, earning another shout. He smirks and cleans the blade on Claquesous’ sleeve. The man throws his chair away and motions for his men to follow him. They retreat, not daring to turn their back on Jehan and Grantaire before they reach the corner of the street.

“You will pay for this!” he screams, before disappearing out of sight with his henchmen.

“Cowards” Jehan mutters. “You okay?”

Grantaire nods, hoping he appears firmer than he feels inwardly.

“Okay, I am going to apologize to Musichetta and we go back to the mansion. Enough adventures for one day.”

 

Jehan goes to Enjolras as soon as they get back home and a meeting is immediately summoned. The leader’s face is a mix of fury and deep concentration, and Grantaire is positively scared. Enjolras clears his throat.

“Listen everyone. Jehan and Grantaire were in town this afternoon, and they were attacked by Montparnasse’s men. I suggest we –”

“Uh… Technically, that’s not how it went” Jehan explains. “They suggested cooperation, I declined the offer in the most polite way – Courf, don’t even open your mouth – and things went downhill from here.”

“But they threatened you, didn’t they?” Enjolras insists.

“Not really. Well, they were being inappropriate, but they didn’t openly threaten us until R stabbed Claquesous in the hand.”

Combeferre gasps.

“You did what?” he asks, pushing his glasses back up his nose.

“He tried to touch me. I reacted instinctively.”

Combeferre rests his chin on his hands, nodding. He looks like a scientist studying a new species of bug and that’s a bit embarrassing. Just a bit. The others all look at Enjolras who is, for once, at a loss of words.

“Well. Uh… You might have overreacted…” he stammers.

“You would have done the same, Enjolras,” Combeferre reminds him, still focused on Grantaire.

“He would have been worse, actually” Joly counters. “Had he been there, he would have cut his hand off.”

“And he would have fed it to dogs” Bossuet adds.

“Would you please stop talking like I can’t hear you? Grantaire, I don’t condemn what you did. They were on our territory, and let’s say we just sent them a warning. But –” 

“Please, Enjolras. There’s no need to add a ‘but’” Courfeyrac whines.

“But you were carrying a weapon, which could have been used against Jehan.”

Grantaire raises his eyebrows.

“I understand that carrying a knife doesn’t fit well with your whole let’s-not-trust-the-whore concept, but you didn’t mention anything about it in the first place. And I didn’t use it against Jehan, because he’s a friend, and I would never do that to a friend, believe it or not.”

“I didn’t bring it up in the first place because it goes without saying!” Enjolras barks.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Enjolras!” Eponine exclaims. “Quit being a dick.”

Enjolras gives her a death glare but calms down nonetheless.

“Alright. Well, I think everything’s been said. We’ll talk about reinforcing our security measures in town later.”

He gets up and absolutely not storms out of the room. The Amis leave one after the other, giving Grantaire apologetic smiles. He just drops his head on Courfeyrac’s shoulder, who pats his arm.

“You might not see it right now, but Enjolras is warming up to you” he reassures him.

“If you say so.”

“I do say so.”

Grantaire straightens up and grabs Courfeyrac’s forearm.

“I don’t care. I don’t want to think about it. Fuck me.”

“Do you mean, fuck me like, fuck this was a long day, or fuck me, as in, fuck me?”

“Fuck me as in, I met assholes I want to forget about by having a session of steamy, rough sex.”

Courfeyrac jumps on his feet.

“Come, my room is really close.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Courfeyrac and Grantaire should be more discreet. But despite what Grantaire might think, Enjolras doesn't mind a little noise sometimes.

They bang the door open and tumble into Courfeyrac’s room, kissing hungrily and hands all other each other. Courfeyrac shuts the door with a kick while tugging Grantaire’s shirt off and throwing it aside blindly. He pushes Grantaire back until his legs hit Courf’s sturdy desk. Well, he believes it is sturdy. They’ll find out soon enough if that assumption is correct. Grantaire fumbles with the buttons of Courfeyrac’s shirt and when this doesn’t get him anywhere, he rips it open, sending buttons all across the rooms.

“Hey! I love that shirt!”

Grantaire unbuckles Courfeyrac’s belt and unzips his pants.

“Stop whining. I’ll sew them back.”

He pushes his hand down Courfeyrac’s pants, starting to stroke firmly. Courfeyrac grabs Grantaire’s ass and squeezes, pressing him even more against the desk.

“God, you can sew. That’s hot.”

“I’m a man of many talents.” Grantaire wriggles to turn around and braces himself on the desk. He cranes his neck to look at Courfeyrac. “There’s a condom in my back pocket” he whispers huskily.

Courfeyrac grins and slides his hand in the pocket, taking a ridiculous amount of time to do it. He fishes the condom out while Grantaire opens his own pants to push them down, just enough to expose his ass and keep his legs restrained. Courfeyrac prepares him minimally, moving two fingers up his ass, crooking them periodically in a way that will make Grantaire shudder. He’s always afraid to hurt him when he takes him like this, but Grantaire is in the mood for rough and fast and has no patience for anything else. Courfeyrac rolls the condom on and positions himself at Grantaire’s entrance, pushing in carefully. Grantaire groans. He cries out when Courfeyrac fully seats himself, savoring the moment for a while.

“Move, Courf!”

Courfeyrac digs his fingers in Grantaire’s hips.

“I like it when you’re bossy, R, but I don’t want to tear you.”

Every word is an effort. To be honest, he desperately wants to move, so he gives in to short, slow thrusts. He covers Grantaire’s nape with his hand, kissing along his shoulder. R quivers, and Courfeyrac suspects that if he had enough space, he would start fucking himself on his cock. When he’s sure he is not going to hurt him, Courfeyrac draws back almost completely and pushes again.

“Oh, GOD!”

Grantaire pushes away the mess scattered on Courfeyrac’s desk – papers, books and pencils alike. Courfeyrac feels a rush of relief when Grantaire’s hand misses his favorite mug – only by a few inches. He cares for that mug. He realizes that he had stopped thrusting for a few seconds and starts again, faster. Grantaire screams loudly with each thrust. He definitely doesn’t lower his voice when Courfeyrac starts whispering dirty things in his ear, reaching to stroke him in rhythm with his thrusts.

“You’re so good, R. When you scream for me to fill you, to pin you on this desk only with my cock…”

He keeps slurring in his ear until Grantaire comes hard, tightening around Courfeyrac and sending him over the edge a few seconds later. They stay there panting, hearts hammering in their chests. Finally, Courfeyrac pulls out and throws the condom in the bin.

“I think half the mansion heard me” Grantaire rasps while pulling his pants up.

“Hmm, probably. Enjolras definitely heard though, there’s no doubting that.”

“What?”

Grantaire spins on his heels, the haze of his orgasm gone. He tilts his head, a dangerous expression on his features.

“How is it possible that Enjolras heard me? I thought he was working?”

Courfeyrac raises his hands in what should be an appeasing gesture, but it seems to compel R to move towards him like a cat stalking a mouse. He’s graceful. He’s fucking terrifying.

“I didn’t say anything about him working. Look, you didn’t care that half the mansion heard you, why would you worry about Enjolras?”

“I won’t ask again…”

“Well… um. His room is next to mine. And he is, well um, in his room. Like, right now.”

Grantaire bends down quickly to grab one of the books which fell on the floor earlier, and throws it at Courfeyrac. He barely has time to duck and the book grazes his arm.

“Damn R, you can aim!”

“I’m not joking, Courf! Enjolras already hated me, now he’s just going to murder in my sleep!”

Grantaire tries to remind himself that he should lower his voice, but he can’t bring himself to it. He grabs another book.

 

 

“ _… going to murder me in my sleep!_ ”

Enjolras hears another thud on a wall. A smile grows on his face. He can practically see Courfeyrac’s pleading look. He doesn’t know Grantaire well enough to picture what fury would look like on his face, but it must be glorious. He gives out a deep breath, then reluctantly removes his hand from his pants. It’s sticky with his come.

“ _To hell with your apologies!_ ”

Enjolras hears a door slamming and everything falls silent again. He closes his eyes, relaxing for a moment in the warmth of his mattress. And of course, someone knocks on the door. He grunts.

“Just a minute!” he shouts.

He gets up, goes to the bathroom to wash his hand, straightens his hair and goes to the door.

“Combeferre. Is there a problem?” he inquires while letting his friend in.

Combeferre sits down on a chair, stretching his long legs.

“I don’t know actually. Did something happen with Courf? I just saw R storming in the corridor, and he was coming from this direction.”

Enjolras shrugs innocently. “They might have had a small quarrel. Is this why you wanted to see me?”

“Oh no. But it’s about R. I talked with Jehan, about what happened this afternoon. He said that Claquesous and his men appeared to know him, or at least to think so.”

Enjolras’ guts twist.

“Do you think he recognized them?”

“No. Jehan said he looked wary – that’s understandable – and rather puzzled. As he said, he lashed out when Claquesous tried to touch him. To touch his scar, specifically.”

Enjolras’ hands ball into fists. Combeferre’s eyes track the movement.

“Do you intend to tell the others about this, Enjolras?”

He forces himself to relax.

“I don’t. You won’t say anything either.”

Combeferre brushes some imaginary dust off his knees. Enjolras doesn’t even hope that his best friend didn’t notice his discomfort. He can’t hide anything from him, but Combeferre is kind enough not to press the matter. Sometimes Enjolras feels like a teenager lying to his mother.

“It will certainly prove useless, but I’ll talk to Grantaire tomorrow, to see if he remembers anything. Gently” Enjolras adds when Combeferre purses his lips. “And I will apologize for what I said earlier. He didn’t deserve it.”

Combeferre has the grace not to comment, yet he is obviously pleased.

“By the way,” he says instead, “I have news for the weapons you asked for. We can meet my contact tomorrow. I had Bossuet run a full investigation on him, he seems trustworthy. Still, better safe than sorry.”

Enjolras strokes his chin, deep in thought. “You’re right. Eponine will come too, she’ll cover us if things turn sour.”

“I’ll let her know. Meanwhile, you should get some rest. You look weary.”

“Yes, mom.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The meeting turns sour and the boys should listen more often to Eponine, and Enjolras & Grantaire almost manage to have a nice chat in the library.

They leave in the afternoon. Combeferre drives them out of Paris, towards the countryside. Enjolras is sitting next to him, chewing on the inside of his lower lip. Combeferre scarcely sees him displaying signs of nervousness, but they have been planning this meeting for weeks, so Combeferre can’t blame him for it. He pats his knee and sends him a comforting smile.

“Where are we going again?” Eponine asks from the back. “I don’t remember you telling me.”

Combeferre watches her in the rear-view mirror. She’s her usual self, checking her gun calmly. Combeferre would trust any of his friends with his life but Eponine is probably the most unmovable of them all. After Enjolras, maybe. She’s also the most ruthless.

“To a disused barn, two hours from here,” he answers.

“You agreed with that, seriously?”

That was predictable.

“No choice. Our contact wanted a quiet place with no camera. It’s hard to find nowadays in Paris.”

“Awesome” she grunts. “I bet you a hundred bucks we’re walking right into a trap. What’s the name of your contact?”

“Nobody.”

“Come again?” she exclaims.

“Nobody, that’s his codename apparently.”

“Jesus, we’re all going to die” she mutters.

Enjolras breathes heavily.

“Please Ep, have a little faith” he says. “Besides, that’s why you’re here. You’re our quickest shooter, nothing can go wrong.” He manages to smile at the last part.

The rest of the ride is calm, apart from a fight over which radio station they should put on. When they arrive to the barn, there is a van already parked in front of it, with no one in sight. They all hide a gun under their shirts and Enjolras turns to Eponine before they get out of the car.

“Any suspect movement, you shoot.”

She nods and follows them towards the barn, constantly checking the surroundings. They pull the heavy door and step in, ready to draw their weapons. Enjolras blinks a few times to get accustomed to the dim light. He spots in the middle of the barn, standing behind a table covered by a dark cloth. The rest of the room is filled with haystacks – providing dozens of hiding places – and Eponine doesn’t like that, not at all. Enjolras motions for her and Combeferre to follow and they walk to the man, stopping in front of the table. Their contact – Nobody – greets them with a welcoming smile, a little bit too bright. Combeferre can totally picture at a marketplace, hailing passer-byes to sell them the best vegetables in town. He represses a snort.

“So, shall we keep calling you Nobody?” Enjolras asks. “That’s not the best way to establish a healthy, trusting relationship.”

The man grins.

“That’s my business name. It won’t impact the quality of your weapons.”

He grasps a corner of the cloth and lifts it with a theatrical gesture. At least he didn’t lie, the weapons are exactly like Enjolras wanted them. The leader takes a rifle and studies it closely. Next to him, Combeferre imitates him with a gun.

“Can I ask you why you need such weaponry?” the man asks.

“No,” Enjolras replies slyly. “These look fine. But I asked for more of them.”

“They aren’t here.”

Enjolras looks at Eponine and she shakes her head almost imperceptibly. The man smirks. There isn’t even a trace of fake warmth in his smile this time.

“You won’t need it once you’re dead” he adds.

Everything happens quickly. Eponine catches movement from the corner of her eye and she grabs her gun, shooting almost blindly at her opponent. From the grunt of pain they hear, she doesn’t miss. At the same time, Combeferre and Enjolras draw out their own weapons, the former aiming at two men who had appeared from behind a haystack, and the latter at Nobody, who is himself aiming at Enjolras. Combeferre manages to shoot a man down.

“Tell Montparnasse he won’t get away with this,” Enjolras hisses at Nobody.

The man fires his gun and Enjolras is forced to duck. They retreat, gunshots coming from everywhere now. Eponine screams in pain just before they reach the exit. She doubles over and Combeferre takes her arm to support her. Enjolras cover them while they get out, then they all run to the car. The leader launches himself behind the wheel, whereas Combeferre goes to the back with Eponine. Some men try to shoot them again, but Bossuet installed reinforced windows on the car and truly, Enjolras wants to kiss him for it. The tires screech on the gravel road. After one last rough movement of the car, they make their exit almost safe and sound.

“Eponine, how bad are you hurt?” Enjolras asks, glancing at her in the rearview mirror. He sees her gritting her teeth when Combeferre touches her arm. Her upper sleeve is soaked with blood.

“I’m fine. Bastard got me in the shoulder.”

“You’re lucky” Combeferre says, the bullet went through. “We’ll just need to stitch you up.”

“And to give me my fucking hundred bucks, don’t forget about that.”

 

Grantaire stops sketching for a while to admire the sunset. He is comfortably curled up on a sofa, near the immense windows of the library. He hasn’t seen anyone today, not since Joly revealed him the existence of this holy place – a library being the only thing Grantaire considers holy in this world.

“Grantaire.”

He jumps on his seat.

“Oh, God! Please stop doing that.”

Enjolras is standing there. He didn’t even hear him opening the door. The blond sits – flops down – in the armchair in front of the sofa. He does not utter a word, only massages the bridge of his nose during a long minute. Grantaire unfolds his legs, ready to leave him in peace. He’s probably the last person Enjolras wants to see at the end of the day.

“It’s okay, you can stay there.”

Enjolras hasn’t even looked up. He gestures for Grantaire to move back on the sofa and he does, curling up again around his sketchbook. Still, Enjolras says nothing.

“So um… how was your day?”

“Walked into a setup. Eponine got shot.”

“Is she…?”

He doesn’t know her but she seems like a person he could get along with, and he doesn’t want any of them to get shot anyway.

“The wound isn’t serious. Moreover, Joly and Combeferre are taking care of it, so there’s really nothing to worry about. She’ll be back on her feet in no time.”

“Who did that? I understand if it’s classified info,” Grantaire adds quickly.

Enjolras raises his head.

“Nobody” he snorts. “That bastard called himself Nobody.”

Grantaire raises an eyebrow.

“At least she’s been shot by a literate man” he replies.

“Sorry?”

“Yeah. You know, the story about Odysseus and the Cyclops.”

He hesitates when Enjolras sends him a skeptical look but the words eventually flow out of his mouth.

“It’s in the Odyssey. During his journey, Odysseus is trapped with his men in Polyphemus’ cave. Polyphemus is a Cyclops who happens to enjoy eating human beings, so you can guess what he does on the next few days. Odysseus finally manages to trick him and pierces his eye, blinding him. When he escapes with his remaining men, Polyphemus calls the other Cyclopes for help. They ask him who did that to him, and he says…”

“Nobody” Enjolras whispers.

“Exactly. Because that’s the name Odysseus had given him. And the other Cyclopes think Polyphemus just blew a fuse, so they leave.”

Enjolras laughs softly upon that last part. The sound of it is beautiful and Grantaire feels his heart clench a bit.

“How do you know that story?” Enjolras asks.

“Sometimes, when I lie on my back, it’s only to read a good book.”

Enjolras doesn’t laugh this time, but the corner of his mouth twitches, so Grantaire counts that as a small victory.

“I like Greek mythology. Very witty and funny,” he adds.

“I wouldn’t mind hearing more stories like this one.”

Grantaire does not try to hide his surprise, Enjolras would see it anyway.

“That would expose you to my presence” he says carefully. “And to the sound of my voice. Two things you don’t seem to be much fond of.”

Enjolras seems to hesitate. Then he straightens in his seat, his features steeling in a cold expression.

“You’re here as a distraction, aren’t you?”

Here is the biting tone that Grantaire is used to. It feels more normal this way, even though it hurts slightly.

“Yeah. Come and find me when you need a bedtime story.”

He gets up, taking his sketchbook with him. This conversation is over for today and he wants to check on Eponine. He nods at Enjolras and heads for the door. When he grabs the handle, the leader’s voice breaks the silence.

“By the way, I’m not going to murder you in your sleep.”

Grantaire flushes. He leaves without a look back.

“And I don’t mind the sound of your voice,” Enjolras whispers to himself.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are cuddles, pancakes and more library time.

Eponine is enduring her second day of forced rest. She insisted that her wound is nothing, that she had worse. In turn, Combeferre insisted that she stays home and Enjolras decided that he was right. So, she endures. Eventually, she decides that brooding in her bedroom is too boring. She goes wandering in the mansion, heading to the library without really thinking about it. Grantaire is always there and he is the only one available for now. Jehan is busy in the armory with Joly, and Enjolras is locked up in the monitoring room with Combeferre and Courfeyrac, doing God knows what. She pushes the door of the library, immediately hearing someone giggling softly.

“Stop it, you giant bear-cub!”

She moves on tiptoes, already grinning. Bahorel is spread on the sofa with Grantaire in his arms. He’s tickling the young man while placing little kisses at the corner of his mouth.

“Oh Eponine!” Bahorel shouts when he notices her. “Wanna join the tickling party?”

She bounces on the sofa beside them, careful not to bump her shoulder. Grantaire stops squirming and curls completely on Bahorel’s lap, leaving her some space to stretch her legs. She notices the sketchbook he left on the small table next to the sofa.

“Can I see it?” she asks.

“Sure. The last drawing is for you, by the way.”

She fights the urge to check it already. Grantaire mainly drew portraits of the Amis. Jehan with flowers in his hair, Courfeyrac with his head tossed back, laugh lines at the corner of his eyes. Their faces are surprisingly lively. She whistles.

“You’re talented, R.”

“Not that much” he shrugs. “It’s a nice past-time.”

Bahorel shakes him.

“Don’t start with the self-depreciation. I’ve never seen someone drawing like you do.”

“You’ve never been in an art gallery,” he counters.

Eponine flips through the pages and immediately knows when she finds the last drawing. It’s her, waving a gun in each hand, hair fluttering across her face. Her features are set in a decided expression.

“Wow.”

“That’s you kicking some asses” Grantaire explains.

“But you didn’t even have a model!”

Bahorel leans to get a look.

“It’s remarkably accurate” he confirms.

He returns his attention to Grantaire, threading his fingers through his black curls and resuming his chaste kissing. Eponine snorts.

“You two are disgusting. Bahorel, if anyone saw you like this, you’d lose all credibility.”

Grantaire’s expression darkens slightly.

“You don’t need to worry about that,” he says. “Your reputation wouldn’t be destroyed by a few kisses.”

Seeing Eponine’s questioning look, he goes on.

“You guys don’t seem to realize that all of Paris talks about you. I know that because almost all of Paris comes to the brothel. You have many supporters. And many who fear you too.”

“What do you exactly know, R?” Eponine asks.

“That you brought order to Paris – at least half of it – by pushing out all the smaller gangs, drug dealers and thugs. That Enjolras brought down many corrupted politicians, I guess probably by intimidating and blackmailing them. By the way, you don’t care about it but some of them were good clients. I was a little sad when they were found rotting in the bois de Boulogne.”

Eponine exchanges a look with Bahorel.

“Could have been the work of other gangs” she ventures.

“Not according to the rumor. Anyway, it also came to my ears that your flourishing business came to a halt a few weeks ago, because of the gang led by fucking Montparnasse.”

“Have you ever met him?” Eponine asks again.

“No. That kind of man doesn’t come to the brothel anymore. I should probably thank you for it. I have a guess though: that setup you walked in was prepared by Montparnasse. However, I’m not sure about what it was. Not drugs, of course. Maybe you wanted to swap the diamonds of a deceased politician for money, or weapons. That’s what you need the most these days.”

“You guess too much for your own good, R” Bahorel sighs.

“I just heard many things. People tend to confide easily after a session of steamy sex with R” he teases.

Bahorel ruffles his hair and Eponine makes a face.

“Now, you can trust me when I say I won’t stab you in the back. If I wanted to, I wouldn’t live with you. Because if you don’t cooperate with Montparnasse – and you won’t – he will send his men against you and everyone you love. God that was cliché” he adds with a roll of his eyes. “So, if they catch me, it won’t be pretty. From what some of my clients said, he intends to make a move against you pretty soon.”

He runs a hand along Bahorel’s jaw, fingertips scratching on his stubble.

“Please don’t be reckless” he whispers.

Eponine looks away. She feels like intruding an intimate moment. Tenderness isn’t a big part of their lives, so she is always ill-at-ease with others’ public display of affection. Especially when they break all the cuteness records.

Bahorel dismisses Grantaire’s worries with a wave of his hand. “Villains never win. By the way, have you ever heard some people giving us nicknames? Like, Avengers nicknames?”

“Oh, not again” Eponine complies. “I already told you, you would be the Hulk.”

 

“Enjolras, you need to leave this room and eat” Joly orders.

The leader looks up from the computer screen. He spent all day trying to figure how to corrupt a particularly stubborn politician. Combeferre insisted that killing all his opponents wasn’t the best strategy, so he tries to innovate.

Joly grabs his chair and rolls it away from the desk. “I’m your damn doctor, and I say you have to eat. No matter how much you consider eating a loss of your time.”

Trying to resist to Joly is as useless as resisting Courfeyrac. Enjolras will only end up with a headache, so he obeys.

“You won’t regret it, Jehan made pancakes.”

They arrive in a kitchen full of life. Courfeyrac is flipping a pancake artfully under applause from Bossuet and Feuilly. Bahorel is in a heated debate with Eponine, talking about some Captain America – Enjolras doesn’t even try to understand – while Jehan and Grantaire are perched on stools near the counter, a book opened between them. Enjolras ignores Joly’s disapproving stare when he gets a cup of coffee and sits at the end of the table. He keeps observing his men fondly. He can’t deny that the atmosphere is much more cheerful with Grantaire here. He wonders what he and Jehan are talking about. Poetry? The Odyssey?

He’s shaken out of his reverie when Courfeyrac sits heavily next to him, almost shoving in his hands a plate with a pancake.

“R is fascinating, isn’t he?”

“Hmm? Yeah, you could say that.”

“Enjolras, you’ve been staring at him for the last five minutes.”

“Go back to your pancakes, Courf.”

They spend the dinner chatting happily about meaningless things. It’s the best dinner Enjolras has had in a long time. He steals some glances at Grantaire and he doesn’t know what to think whenever his heartbeat goes faster because Grantaire glances back. After a while, they all start to leave the kitchen one by one. Enjolras tries not to track Grantaire’s every movement when he gets out.

“He certainly went to the library,” Combeferre whispers in his ear five minutes later.

“Whatever Courf told you…”

“Courf doesn’t need to tell me anything.”

Enjolras gets up and pats Combeferre’s shoulder with resignation. As expected, Grantaire occupies his usual spot in the library. As expected, he doesn’t hear him coming in, too focused on his sketchbook. It raises a strange feeling in Enjolras’ chest. He finds this cute, but on the other hand… if he were anyone else, someone with wrong intentions, Grantaire wouldn’t stand a chance. He would be caught completely unaware. Enjolras clears his throat. Grantaire raises his head, almost smiles but seems to hesitate and carefully adopts a neutral expression. Enjolras wishes he could have seen that smile.

“I’m glad you like this place” he says.

Great line, Enjolras. Best line ever. Grantaire nods.

”Yes, it’s peaceful. Peaceful is good sometimes.”

Enjolras takes his usual place in the armchair, trying not to notice R’s wary eyes.

“Do you need me to distract you?” the young man asks bluntly. “I could read you poetry, suck you, walk on my hands…”

That sparks Enjolras’ interest.

“Would you?”

“What, suck you? Of course I –”

“No, walk on your hands I mean. Can you do that?”

Grantaire parts his lips, for once speechless. He studies Enjolras’ face, probably attempting to see if he is mocking him. He eventually smiles tentatively.

“Yeah… yeah, I can do that.” 

He pushes his sketchbook asides and moves to the middle of the room. He raises his arms in front of him – like a gymnast, Enjolras muses – takes a graceful step forward and quickly bends down, shifting his whole weight on his arms. His green t-shirt falls down and Enjolras pays absolutely no attention to his bare torso. Grantaire stays like that for a moment and then starts moving confidently. He’s focused and Enjolras can see the practice behind every move. Grantaire finally throws his legs back and straightens up, cheeks a little flushed. He watches Enjolras expectantly, relaxing when the leader’s smile grows a little more.

“Are you satisfied, dear Apollo?”

Enjolras nods. “I didn’t notice before, but you must be quite strong if you can do that. Who taught you?”

Grantaire moves back to the sofa.

“I grew up in circus. This was nothing compared to my other tricks.”

He has that tiny mischievous smile again, the one that makes him look so appealing and strangely, innocent. Enjolras wants to kick himself. This could only end badly. He doesn’t want Grantaire to end badly. All he has to do is send him away. A word would be enough, yet he can’t say it. Something must have shifted in his expression, because Grantaire has knotted his hands together over his knees, not quite looking at him.

Enjolras doesn’t want to ruin that moment.

“Sorry, I got lost in my thoughts. Could you walk on a thread?”

Grantaire beams again.

“Of course! I could juggle while doing it, if you’d like.”

Enjolras would love to see that. They could probably set a thread in the training room – and no, that won’t do. He’s thinking of preparing useless things for a man he doesn’t know, when he barely has time for it. Why did he agree to this?

“I’m sure your clients liked it, but I have less futile business to attend to.”

Maybe if Grantaire hates him enough, it will be easier. The look of deep hurt painted on his face might be a first step towards it.

“Wow. Thank you for reminding me how useless I am. I almost forgot,” he replies.

Enjolras should feel proud at the barely contained crack in Grantaire’s voice – it means he’s on the right track. So why does he keep turning in his bed, unable to sleep, that night?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for leaving it on an angsty moment again, I swear I didn't plan on it. Next chapter should fix that though.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras and Grantaire might finally find some common ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a really short mention of potential non-con in one sentence, but it remains totally imaginary. Okay, that sounds weird, so let's just say that nothing happens for real.

Combeferre prides himself on reading people well, a useful skill when you lie and get lied to on a regular basis. But even without his observing skills, he would have noticed the awkwardness between Grantaire and Enjolras. They’ve been avoiding each other for a week, since that night in the library. Not that they spent that much time together, but now the tension is palpable. 

“Hey, would you please pay attention?”

Grantaire’s voice – as well as the vicious tightening of his ass around Combeferre’s cock – stop his musings. He gives a sharp thrust upward, gripping Grantaire’s hips to keep him in place. Grantaire mewls and tries to push back down, but Combeferre has set his own pace and Grantaire will have to be patient before he gets his release.

“Tell me… Ferre” he pants. “You know Apollo… ah! – pretty well, don’t you?”

“Do we have to talk about my best friend while you’re riding me?”

Grantaire bends and catches one nipple between his teeth, alternatively lapping and sucking it. Combeferre’s breathe hitches in his throat. He wraps his arm around Grantaire’s lower back to lock him in position. He folds his knees to gain more leverage and quickens his thrusts. Grantaire’s cock is rubbing between them, leaking. He abandons Combeferre’s nipple to kiss him. He presses against his lips and Combeferre parts his lips, letting Grantaire explore his mouth with his tongue. They’re still like this when the younger man comes. Combeferre swallows his moans and fucks him through his orgasm, quick to follow.

He squirms to pull out carefully, even though Grantaire is more than used to this, but they don’t move. Grantaire remains curled upon him, breath heavy, until he leans down the bed to grab his jeans and retrieve a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He rolls on his back, leaning against the headboard and lights a cigarette. Combeferre snorts.

“It’s a bad habit, R.”

“Hmm.” Grantaire takes a long drag. “It doesn’t get better with you constantly moaning about it. Besides, Joly lectured about lung cancer for a whole afternoon the other day. I survived it, so you won’t convince me.”

Combeferre runs his fingertips along Grantaire’s flank. He smiles when the young man shivers a bit.

“You managed to quit drinking” he reminds him.

“Precisely. It’s been a long, hard road as I’m sure you remember. Don’t expect me to quit both drinking and smoking. That’s too much for one man.”

He seems at loss when ashes threaten to fall from his cigarette. Combeferre quickly gives him an empty glass he had left on his bedside table.

“Thank you. So, about Enjolras. You never answered my question.”

“What can I tell you? We’ve known each other since our teenage years. He always had my back, I did the same for him.”

Grantaire finishes his cigarette and throws it in the glass. He turns on his side to face Combeferre, a charming smile on his lips. He strokes Combeferre’s calf up and down with his toes.

“R, I consider you a friend. You don’t need to fish for information as if I were a mere client. Just ask.”

Grantaire stops stroking him, but the smile remains.

“Why does he despise me? I mocked him a bit, is that why?”

Through his more than hectic life, Combeferre has lived many nerve-wracking situations which gave him a lot of self-control. He doesn’t tense up.

“He does not despise you. He works too much. Has trust issues. Nothing more.”

Nothing more.

“You’re lying. Oh don’t try to deny it, you use short sentences when you lie. Let me tell you, that’s also a bad habit.”

Combeferre smiles. He absently brushes his fingers along Grantaire’s scar. It’s obvious that Grantaire fights to keep from recoiling.

“I wish I could make it disappear” Combeferre says, mostly to himself.

“You already did a lot to help me.” Grantaire slaps his shoulder. “Don’t try to change subjects!”

Combeferre grins and rolls to pin Grantaire under him. He kisses him thoroughly.

“I wouldn’t dare,” He breathes against his lips.

He sneaks one hand under Grantaire’s lower back to press him closer. Grantaire wraps his legs around him, a low whine escaping his throat. Right when Combeferre bends to nip at his throat, he hears the click of the doorknob. None of them has time to react.

“Ferre we need to – oh dear Lord!”

Grantaire yelps at the intrusion and instinctively clings to Combeferre.

“Privacy, Enjolras” Combeferre mutters. “We talked about it.”

He looks at Enjolras, who keeps shifting his gaze between him and Gantaire, partially hidden by Combeferre’s body. The leader regains his usual composure.

“Combeferre, we need to talk” he repeats. He nods towards Grantaire. “You, out.”

Grantaire looks offended but he doesn’t protest. He wraps himself in the sheet and gets out of bed. He pauses, sends Enjolras a defiant look and bends to kiss Combeferre, long and deep. Combeferre wants to laugh when he hears him moan, louder than usual.

“I’ll come back later to get my things. Don’t want to make Apollo wait.”

He leaves, not even sparing a glance to Enjolras. Combeferre covers himself with a blanket, while motioning for Enjolras to sit on the bed.

“If you ever get so rude with him again, we will have a serious problem,” Combeferre warns.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not the one who needs to hear it.”

Enjolras doesn’t reply and Combeferre knows that he will have to coax the words out of him.

“Look Enjolras, don’t fight it. Tell him the truth. Or don’t, but at least give him a rest.”

Enjolras laughs bitterly.

“Actually, I came here because I wanted to find what he likes the most. A book, or something like that. You’re the one who knows him best, so I figured you could help me. But I might have screwed up along the way.”

Combeferre grabs his glasses on the bedside table and puts them on to get a better look at his friend’s face.

“Honestly, apologies would be enough. But I can tell you a few things.” He sits up completely. “R had a rough childhood. As you can see, it didn’t get better when he grew up. He’s afraid of the dark, hates sleeping alone. He has serious confidence issues.” At that point, Combeferre can’t help sending Enjolras a reproachful look, and his friend has the decency to look ashamed. “But he’s also witty, cultivated, loyal. He likes being cuddled, and kissed here – just under the earlobe.”

Enjolras is drinking in his words.

“But for now, that’s not the info you need. He loves to paint, can spend hours doing it. If I had something to apologize for – because I screwed up pretty badly – I would ask Jehan to take me to a painting shop and show me what Grantaire prefers.”

“Thank you, Ferre.”

 

When Grantaire strolls in the library two days later, he stops dead in his tracks. There’s a canvas resting on a frame near the sofa, and a wooden box next to it on the table. He moves and studies the items cautiously, as if they could attack him. He gasps when he opens the box. It’s filled with – expensive, really expensive – tubes of paint.

“Do you like it?”

For once, he doesn’t jump when Enjolras speaks up. He raises his head and spots the leader, leaning in a dark corner. He must have observed him the whole time. Grantaire closes the box.  
“I thought you would” Enjolras says hastily. “Jehan said you would like that brand but I can change them…”

Grantaire raises one hand to shut him.

“Don’t get offended Apollo, but last time you asked me about my interests, you used them three seconds later to remind me how worthless I am. That’s what you always do.”

Enjolras opens his mouth, then closes it. He hadn’t thought about it that way but… yes. He had been awful. He crosses the room and stop in front of R, leaving the small table as a barrier between them.

“I want to apologize for that night, and all the other things I said. That’s what the paints are for.”

Grantaire shifts on his feet, biting his lower lip. “Look, I appreciate it but… if I accept your gift, don’t lash out five minutes later. You need to decide if you hate me or if you can tolerate me.”

Something snaps in Enjolras.

“You think I hate you? Truly, I don’t. What I hate is your smoking, I also hate it that a man like you has to sell himself –”

“Oh, because some people deserve to be prostitutes?” Grantaire snarls.

Enjolras goes around the table and grips his upper arms.

“That’s not what I’m saying. I hate that you put your life at risk with people who could abuse you whenever they want.” Grantaire tries to escape his hold, but he brings him closer. “I hate this scar on your face.”

Grantaire’s eyes get shiny with unshed tears. He renews his struggle.

“Let me go! Fuck, let me go, if you can’t bear my ugly face…”

Enjolras twists him around, brings Grantaire’s back against his chest. He locks his arms around him and his face is now buried in Grantaire’s wild curls. Enjolras presses closer.

“I’m not done. I hate this scar, but not because I think it makes you ugly. I hate it because it looks like a tear left a permanent track there, and constantly reminds me that someone decided to hurt you and managed to do it.” Grantaire’s squirming decreases. “Someone hurt you and no one could prevent it. They could do it again without risking punishment, ‘cause who really cares about prostitutes in this fucking town?”

He inhales Grantaire’s scent and tightens his hold around him. It must be painful now, yet R doesn’t complain, only breathes heavily. Enjolras realizes that he’s biting sobs back.

“Montparnasse would tear you to pieces, just because you’ve been with us. Even the police wouldn’t help you, they would only bend you over the desk before putting you in jail for what you are.”

“Stop” Grantaire chokes. “Please stop.”

“And I would kill them all for it.” Grantaire stills in his arms. “So no, I don’t hate you. I wanted you to leave because it’s not safe for you to be here, but I can’t hate you. I can’t figure what I feel for you. I only know that I want to protect you.”

This time he doesn’t stop R when he shifts in his arms to face him. His cheeks are wet with tears.

“You have to work on you communication skills,” he croaks. “But that’s good for me. Protecting is good.”

Enjolras tries to wipe his tears away with his sleeve. Grantaire watches him with too trusting eyes. Enjolras brushes his thumb against his lower lip.

“Will you let me kiss you?” he blurts out.

Grantaire seems a bit taken aback but a grin spreads on his face once he realizes Enjolras is serious.

“Gladly.”

Enjolras scoops Grantaire’s face between his hands. He tilts his head up and bends to kiss his jaw, trailing up to his chin, then to his lips. He barely touches them, as if Grantaire would break or get frightened. Grantaire doesn’t try to force his pace. It’s nice to be held like an invaluable treasure, to let the fearless leader discover his lips and mouth with care. With caution, even. He sighs and closes his eyes, parting his lips to entwine their tongues. Enjolras is a bit clumsy, like he’s afraid. It’s even better like this.

 

“Do you see something?” Jehan whispers.

“Shhh! Yes but… I can’t see if Enjolras is trying to suffocate R or to kiss him. We’re talking about Enjolras, so it must be both.”

Jehan pushes Courfeyrac away from the keyhole and sticks his eye against it.

“Oh they are just so cute!”

“Quiet, Jehan. Enjolras will stop being cute if he catches us spying on him while he discovers what feelings are.”

Jehan stares at him sternly.

“Oh, because you’re an expert on the subject?”

“Please, Jehan. You’re offending me.”

They are ready to start bickering when Combeferre appears in the corridor. He readjusts his glasses on his nose, looking confused.

“What are you two doing here?”

“Enjolras is dealing with his feelings. It’s an amazing thing to witness, something you’re not sure you’ll ever see again. Like a solar eclipse,” Courfeyrac replies, pushing Jehan to look through the key hole.

Combeferre fights not to bang his head on the wall. He grabs Jehan and Courfeyrac by the ear and hoists them up.

“Am I the only one who cares about privacy in this house?” he groans.

Jehan and Courfeyrac only whimper in disappointment when he drags them away from the library.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eponine and Grantaire have a bonding time while throwing knives, then Enjolras and Grantaire bond in a different way.

Throwing knives is Eponine’s best way to calm down. Usually it works, but today her shoulder is still sore and it only upsets her more. She throws a knife and misses the center of the target by a few inches. It’s already too much. She groans and takes another knife, which lands next to the previous one.

“I wouldn’t like to be that target.”

She turns to find R behind her, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets.

“I guess now I’ll have to paint you waving knives and kicking asses” he adds with a wink.

Eponine hands him a knife.

“You want to try? Courfeyrac said you have a deadly aim. But he refused to tell us how he learned that.”

Grantaire pushes himself off the wall with a cocky smile. He takes the knife and places himself in front of an empty target.

“He learned it the hard way.”

He aims and the knife almost hits the center. Eponine whistles, a sound somewhere between disbelief and admiration.

“Courf wasn’t exaggerating for once” she says. “Where did you learn?”

“Born and raised in a circus. You learn many things in that kind of place.”

He says it flatly, without nostalgia or fondness and Eponine wants to know more.

“How did you end up in a brothel then? Wouldn’t it be better to still be in the circus, flying on a trapeze?”

Grantaire picks up another knife, studies it for a moment and throws it. This time, he hits the bull’s eye. He doesn’t meet her gaze when he speaks again.

“Flying on a trapeze had a price I was tired of paying.” He notices her silent curiosity and shrugs. “My father hit me when my practice wasn’t perfect, when he had had a bad day or when he just felt like making me cry.”

Eponine isn’t the type for big displays of affectation but if she were, she would hug him here and then. Not because he looks sad – he doesn’t – but because he doesn’t seem to care, as if he was telling a stranger’s story. Somehow it’s worse.

“I left the circus when I turned eighteen. Never saw my parents again.”

He takes his cigarettes out of his pocket and lights one, offering another to Eponine. She briefly hesitates – smoking in the armory isn’t a safe thing to do with Jehan around. But hell, Jehan isn’t here.

“I went to Paris, tried to live with my art. As you can guess, it didn’t work very well. I started to sell myself sometimes, then it happened regularly. Finally, I ended in the brothel.”

They remain silent for a long time.

“That’s not the brightest story I’ve ever heard,” Eponine eventually says. “But I can relate to the flee-from-your-parents thing.”

They exchange a knowing look. Grantaire makes a show of patting her shoulder and they laugh in unison. It’s a bitter laugh, but it’s better than nothing.

“Enough talking about the past” Grantaire declares. “Tell me, why did you want to murder that target with your knives? Did Courf piss you off? I can make him pay if you want.”

Now her laugh is real, even if a worried expression quickly settles on her features.

“Courf didn’t do anything. It’s that weapon problem. Since we got set up, we still don’t have the weapons we needed. Most sellers are on Montparnasse’s side around here, so…”

“Oh. Well, I might know someone who could help. A person who won’t betray you.”

“Really?” she exclaims. “You’re not joking?”

“I’ve never been so serious.”

“Okay. I’ll talk to Enjolras and we’ll see what happens, right?”

He nods, flushing slightly. Eponine prides herself on being more mature than Courfeyrac and that’s the only reason she doesn’t tease him on what happened the day before in the library. An event everybody has heard of within the hour, of course.

“I… uh, I have a sparring session with Bahorel,” Grantaire mutters. “See you later.”

 

Enjolras never goes to the sparring room. If he hadn’t lived in this mansion since his childhood, he wouldn’t even remember where it is. But today, Eponine brought him desperately good news and he needs to see Grantaire. All business related, of course. When he reaches the room, in a quiet hallway of the mansion far from their common areas, the door is ajar. 

He pushes it silently and right when he considers calling Grantaire and Bahorel to get their attention, a grunt reaches his ears. Enjolras scans the room and spots them on the opposite side. Grantaire is crouching on the floor mat, facing Bahorel. They are both wearing sweatpants, and Bahorel is the only one who bothered to put on a tank top which makes his already impressive muscles look even bigger. From what Enjolras can see, they are both grinning. Bahorel is obviously looking for the best angle to tackle Grantaire, who in turn keeps shifting his weight lightly from one foot to another, ready to bounce away. They look like two wild animals gauging each other, and Bahorel’s feral smile reinforces that idea. After another few seconds, Grantaire finally sends a mocking little gesture with one hand, daring Bahorel to come closer. Apparently, that’s what the big man was waiting for.

He lunges forward and Grantaire waits until the last moment to duck to the side. 

“Is that all you have?” Enjolras hears him say.

Bahorel sends him a false offended look and circles him slowly. They go on like this for some time, maintaining a rhythm off charging and ducking, like a well-practiced dance. Grantaire is lithe and fast but sometimes, Bahorel almost manages to grab him. Enjolras feels relieved that they’re not in the mood for delivering blows, because his breath is already catching in his throat whenever Bahorel’s large hands come closer to Grantaire’s neck or ribcage. 

Eventually – and Enjolras doesn’t know if that’s because Grantaire gets tired or decides that he wants to end their game – Bahorel swings his left leg under Grantaire’s feet when he steps aside for the tenth time. That sends him rolling on his back and Bahorel is immediately above him, pinning his wrists to his sides. Grantaire squirms without real effort. It looks more like an excuse to grind their hips together.

Enjolras watches Bahorel bend down to whisper something in Grantaire’s ear. Whatever it is, it makes Grantaire shudder from head to toe. Enjolras swallows thickly. He feels a rush of jealousy invading him – but really, he’s the one who allowed this.

Enjolras turns away when Grantaire snakes his legs around Bahorel’s waist. It’s better to leave than to go in there and do something ridiculous. He retreats to his study, promising himself he will listen to Eponine next time she suggests that he doesn’t interrupt a sparring session between R and Bahorel. He tries to go back to his investigation on this corrupted politician he wants to take down, but his thoughts keep drifting back to Grantaire.

To the way he quivered with pleasure. His sweaty skin.

Why did he agree to this? He can’t concentrate anymore. Sometimes, he even hates his men, his friends, and that is so wrong. Yet he can’t help himself. He hated Feuilly when one evening he appeared in the kitchen with disheveled hair, obviously spent, and Grantaire’s arm around his waist. He hates Courfeyrac whenever he says a silly joke which makes Grantaire laugh with his head thrown back. Or the affectionate kisses Combeferre places on Grantaire’s cheekbone to greet him in the morning. Combeferre doesn’t kiss people to greet them, he doesn’t kiss them at all, period.

But most of all, Enjolras hates himself for reacting like that. None of them deserves such feelings. He groans in frustration and texts Combeferre.

His best friend is here five minutes later. He sits in the chair in front of Enjolras’ desk, crossing his legs as if he were attending a serious meeting. But the hint of a smile betrays his apparent solemnity.

“What is bothering you today?” Combeferre asks. Always straight to the point.

“What is it like to be with R?”

“Ah.” Combeferre crosses his hands on his knee. “I think the best way to know that is to see by yourself.”

He studies Enjolras’s face for a moment before speaking again. “However, you’re aware that we’re not technically with him? Not that I would mind but – and I regret saying that – we’re mostly his clients. Maybe friends for some of us, in a way.”

Enjolras nods. “I’m aware. It’s just that I’m drawn to him, even though I can’t figure out why. Or how.”

He struggles to find his words, to clear his ideas. That is also new to him and it’s not pleasant at all.

Combeferre seems to take pity. “You want him?”

“Yes.” he admits.

“Do you want to spend more time with him?”

“Yes.” This starts to get tiring.

“So go on. He won’t bite you – unless you ask” Combeferre says, grinning.

Enjolras briefly closes his eyes and stops Combeferre with a raised hand.

“A horrible image of you and him popped into my mind and… Ugh. Sorry. I walked in on him and Bahorel during a sparring session before I sent you a message” he explains.

Combeferre doesn’t laugh but his smile widens and his eyes crinkle.

“Hence your sudden problem with R.”

Enjolras gets up and starts pacing.

“I should focus on Paris. On our business. But I kissed him yesterday and that’s the only thing I can think about. And now I feel like a teenager again.”

He stops to sit on his desk, hunching his shoulders in defeat.

“That’s really not the right time.”

“Or maybe it is,” Combeferre suggests.

“It will only lead to more trouble.”

“Give it a try, Enjolras. Maybe he’s worth the trouble.”

After that conversation, Enjolras locks himself in his study the whole day, keeps on working – at least it pushes everything else out of his mind – and forgets about dinner. When he eventually resigns himself to stop working and closes his laptop, it’s close to midnight. Enjolras hesitates for a moment, then heads to the library, hoping to find Grantaire there. The library is empty so he decides to try his bedroom, praying that he won’t find anyone there with Grantaire. He has seen enough for today.

Once he’s in front of the door, Enjolras hesitates again. He shakes his head – there’s nothing to be embarrassed about – and knocks.

“Come in!”

He does, and thank God, Grantaire is sitting on his bed, alone. Enjolras closes the door, locking it. Grantaire tracks the movement and grins.

“You came for another kiss, Apollo?”

He shuffles on his knees to the end of the bed, leaning against a post. Enjolras approaches him, the sound of his steps muffled by the carpet. Grantaire is only wearing jeans – again – and Enjolras can’t take his eyes off his toned abdomen. Before he can think about it, he runs his fingertips from the side of Grantaire’s throat to the top of his shoulder. Grantaire shivers.

“I wanted to talk about your contact, for the weapons” Enjolras replies. He tries to ignore Grantaire’s disappointed look. “And maybe, steal you a kiss.”

“You won’t steal it if I give it to you” Grantaire whispers.

He tentatively reaches for Enjolras’ shirt. When the other doesn’t move, he grabs it and tugs while he retreats towards the middle of the bed. Enjolras climbs on the bed, trying not to lose his balance. Grantaire never looks away from him while he lies on his back. He drags Enjolras above him. Enjolras plants his knees on each side of Grantaire’s waist, his hands on each side of his head. They barely touch each other, which suits Enjolras for now. He’s almost sure his body will betray him with any prolonged contact.

Grantaire is still clutching his shirt. He uses his free hand to stroke the locks of hair which fell around the leader’s face.

“Let’s get it over with my contact now,” he says. “Otherwise you’ll keep thinking about him, so I’ll think about him too and it will ruin everything.”

Enjolras threads his fingers in Grantaire’s curls, tugging it gently to bare his throat.

“I’m all ears.”

“He’s working for his family. There’s no way in hell they would side with Montparnasse, so you can trust them. They would most likely pay you to get rid of him.”

Enjolras bends down to brush his lips against his throat.

“What’s his name?”

“Marius. Pontmercy.” Grantaire swallows. Enjolras can feel the movement of his Adam’s apple against his cheek. “I’ll call him tomorrow. Can we move on to a more interesting topic now?”

Enjolras chuckles and draws back to watch him. Grantaire is looking up at him with his big eyes again, the hint of a smile on his lips.

“Do you look at everyone like that? With so much trust?” Enjolras asks.

“No. Just you.”

Enjolras releases his hair and wraps his hand around Grantaire’s throat.

“You shouldn’t. I could hurt you.”

He tightens his grip, stopping before it cuts off Grantaire’s air.

“You won’t” Grantaire replies, and there isn’t any doubt in his voice. “Whatever point you’re trying to prove, I know you won’t.” 

Enjolras presses his fingers more insistently in his flesh. Grantaire puts his hands flat on the mattress to get more leverage, and pushes himself up to nip at Enjolras’ jaw. The hand around his throat loosens. Grantaire bites Enjolras’ lower lip gently.

“You won’t hurt me. If you’re trying to scare me to make me leave, it’s not going to work.”

Enjolras pushes him back against the mattress, kissing him angrily.

“I’m the worst man you want to be with” he warns between two bites.

“Don’t overestimate yourself, I’ve seen worst men. Been fucked by worst men.”

He presses a hand against Enjolras’ crotch, finding him as hard as he suspected. He squeezes and starts massaging him through his trousers.

“I’m still a bit sore from… uh, earlier activities. But my offer to suck you off still stands.”

“Thank you, but no.”

Enjolras pushes his hand away. He moves aside and opens Grantaire’s jeans, tugging them down and throwing them away. He smirks when he realizes Grantaire doesn’t have any underwear. The young man tenses. 

“Wait, I told you…”

Enjolras cups his face, strokes his scar with his thumb.

“I didn’t plan on fucking you. Not yet.”

Grantaire nods. “Then you can do whatever you want.”

Enjolras kisses him again and flips him on his stomach. Grantaire stretches his arms above his head, much like a cat. He feels Enjolras moving above him and straddling his ass. The leader leaves a trail of kisses along his spine, starting in the middle of his back and progressively getting closer to his neck, lying fully on him.

By the time Enjolras finally grabs Grantaire’s jaw to turn his head and devour his mouth, he’s covering him with his body.

“Despite all I said and how much of an ass I can be,” he mutters in R’s ear, “I would never force myself on you.”

Grantaire hums and reaches behind to palm Enjolras’ cock again, blindly trying to pull his fly down. Enjolras helps him, reveling in the feeling of his cock springing free out of his pants. He grinds his hips down, rubbing himself on Grantaire’s ass.

“In fact, I would go after anyone doing that to you.”

He pries Grantaire’s cheeks apart, fitting his cock between them. Grantaire pushes his hips into the mattress, in rhythm with Enjolras’ thrusts.

“I bet you would cut their hand and feed it to dogs” he moans. “Except y-you… don’t have dogs.”

Enjolras chuckles and quickens his pace.

“I would cut their dick most likely. As for the dogs…” He pauses a moment, because his release is close now and it makes it hard to think. “I can buy one. For you.”

A low moan escapes Grantaire and it’s just too much for Enjolras who gives one final thrust before he comes all over Grantaire’s lower back. Once he can breathe normally again, he turns Grantaire on his back, stroking him to completion, which doesn’t take long.

Enjolras tugs himself back in his pants but he remains next to R. He has one resting across Grantaire’s chest – it’s a bit possessive but the curly haired man doesn’t seem to mind.

“Were you serious about that dog?” Grantaire asks after long minutes of silence.

“Of course. I’ll get you the fiercest dog I can find.”

Grantaire plasters himself to his side and Enjolras feels his smile against his neck. When Grantaire falls asleep, Enjolras covers him as best as he can with the quilt. He kisses Grantaire’s forehead and leaves on tiptoes.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Courfeyrac is a bit too nosy for his own good, Enjolras and Grantaire have a business meeting with Marius. Yes, Marius.

Someone is shaking Grantaire’s shoulder, tearing him away from pleasant dreams. He mumbles and tries to hide his face under the quilt.

“Wake up, R. It’s almost noon.”

“Nngh.” He sighs and forces his eyes open. “What is it Courf? You can’t possibly want to fuck right now.”

Courfeyrac grabs his shoulders to hoist him in a sitting position.

“There’s no hour for fucking. But no, that’s not why I’m here. Enjolras called.”

Oh yes. Enjolras. Grantaire had momentarily forgotten their shared moment.

“He called? Where is he?”

Courfeyrac shrugs and picks up Grantaire’s jeans.

“No idea. Here, put these on. He asked if you had called your contact and if not, said that you should do it as soon as possible.”

Grantaire fumbles with his jeans and wriggles on the bed to put them without having to stand up. Courfeyrac looks around until he spots his cell phone, then hands it to him.

“Enjolras will be home soon and he doesn’t like to wait.”

He flops down next to Grantaire, legs dangling off the bed.

“Is he a good kisser?” Courfeyrac asks out of the blue.

Grantaire blinks. “Excuse me?”

“Enjolras. How was it to kiss him? I bet he’s the dominant type, but I can picture him a bit clumsy – Ow!”

Grantaire shoves him off the bed and focuses on finding Marius’ number. Courfeyrac sits up straight and peeps above the mattress.

“You need to work on your self-control, R. You’re quick to violence sometimes.”

Grantaire doesn’t bother looking up from his phone.

“You’re the only one who makes me react like this. Ask yourself why.”

Courfeyrac fakes deep thinking. “Maybe you want to engage in some angry sex?” He ducks the pillow aimed at his head. “See? Violence again.”

Grantaire turns slowly on the bed. He crosses the short distance between them on his hands and knees. He’s got that predatory look that shouldn’t be so damn hot. When he’s close to Courfeyrac, he lowers himself so that their lips almost touch.

“If I haven’t called Marius before Enjolras comes home, I’ll tell him that you kept harassing me about his private life.”

Courfeyrac gapes. “You would not.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

 

Enjolras arrives twenty minutes later. He goes to the kitchen and pauses at the entrance. Grantaire is there, braiding Jehan’s hair and pointedly ignoring the glares Courfeyrac sends him, for whatever reasons. Jehan is polishing a blade while reading what must be poetry. It’s all very domestic. Enjolras suddenly realizes he wouldn’t mind living like this every day.

It’s Grantaire who sees him first and smiles tentatively.

“Hello Apollo.”

Enjolras rolls his eyes but he doesn’t find it in himself to be annoyed. Instead, his gaze is drawn to the movement of Grantaire’s hands and back to his lips. Enjolras knows he’s been staring for too long when Courfeyrac clears his throat.

“What is it, Courf?” he sighs.

“I sense something there…”

“What you sense is that Jehan won’t hesitate to give me his blade should you get nosier” Grantaire replies casually, still braiding Jehan’s hair.

“You see? You’re getting violent again” Courfayrac protests.

He turns to Enjolras, who merely shrugs.

“Grantaire, did you reach your contact?” he asks.

“Yeah, we can meet in three hours, if that’s fine with you.”

“Perfect. I’ll see you then.”

Enjolras allows himself to smile to Grantaire – a twitch of his lips – then goes away. Courfeyrac sends Grantaire a triumphant look.

“Who was right, then? He’s totally not going to murder you in your sleep.”

Jehan puts his blade down and frowns.

“Why would Enjolras do that?”

“Trust me Jehan, you don’t want to know” Grantaire grunts. “But I can tell you Courf was involved.”

“Are you going to say it was my fault again?” Courf asks a little petulantly.

Grantaire grins and leans over the counter to swat at his nose playfully.

“Don’t pout, Courf. A reluctant part of me loves your mischief.”

Courfeyrac’s eyes brighten all at once. “Ah, I knew there was a reason you always miss me when you throw things.”

Grantaire retreats off the counter and starts braiding Jehan’s hair again.

“Yeah, maybe. Don’t tempt me too much however.”

 

Grantaire steals glances at Enjolras during the whole drive. When his grin gets a little too teasing for Enjolras’ taste, the leader finally breaks the silence which has settled in the car.

“What?”

“Nothing” Grantaire answers with his lopsided grin. “You’re so serious it’s cute.”

Enjolras seems puzzled. “I’m driving. So I’m focused on the road.”

Grantaire gets closer to him, running his fingers on Enjolras’ thigh. The reasonable reaction would be to push his hand away, but that’s also the one thing Enjolras is least inclined to do. Grantaire hums approvingly.

“I admit that I’ve never felt so safe in a car. With a dangerous mob leader,” he adds in a whisper.

“We’re not a mob.”

Grantaire ignores him.

“But you don’t have to look like an avenging god when you stop to let pedestrians cross the road.”

Enjolras laughs before he can refrain from doing it. He tries to keep his eyes straight ahead but the traitors wander towards Grantaire, who trails his fingers on Enjolras’ crotch.

“I would faint in front of your car if you looked at me like this” Grantaire continues matter-of-factly.

He squeezes Enjolras’ thigh one last time and removes his hand. The leader experiences frustration in a brand new way. He doesn’t want to act like a whining child, but come on.

“Why did you stop?” he asks.

“We’re almost there and if I had kept going on like this, you would have had a hard-on within three minutes. You can’t realize it yet but we cannot have you walking around with a hard-on in front of Marius Pontmercy.”

Enjolras doesn’t know what to answer so he remains silent. At least they share almost comfortable silences now. The drive last ten more minutes until Grantaire motions him to park his car. Then Enjolras lets Grantaire guide him to the café Marius picked for their meeting. There’s only one person sitting at the terrace: a young man focused on a book – much like Jehan – and finely dressed. He doesn’t notice them until Grantaire’s shadow appears on the page he’s reading. Very cautious.

“Hey R!”

He bounces up and they exchange a quick kiss on the cheek. It’s a friendly kiss, nothing like the ones Combeferre gives to Grantaire in the morning. Enjolras hates to admit it, but he feels relieved. Then Marius turns to him and they shake hands, politely on Enjolras’ side and more excitedly for Marius.

“I’m Marius Pontmercy. Nice to meet you.”

“Enjolras.” He hesitates for split second then says “Nice to meet you.”

That’s usually not the way he greets weapon dealers. Skipping formalities suits him best and none of them seem offended by it. But somehow, he feels that Marius would be offended. They order coffee and sit down. Enjolras wills himself to pay minimal attention to the way Grantaire’s knee creates a nice warmth against his.

“Grantaire told me you need equipment.” Enjolras nods. “My family has what you need.”

They talk for a moment about the kind and number of weapons Enjolras wants. Grantaire doesn’t join the conversation. He takes his sketchbook out of his bag and draws the street in front of them. 

When they finally reach an agreement on the price – a reasonable one to be honest – Marius’ expression shifts. His face is resolute. Nothing reminds Enjolras of the slightly displeased twitch of Marius’ lips which punctuated their whole conversation.

“I don’t want to appear presumptuous, but considering you’re the leader of Les Amis, I guess this is all related to Montparnasse.”

Grantaire stops drawing, more interested now in the turn of conversation. Enjolras nods, waiting for Marius to go on.

“My family is willing to assist you in this… task, let’s say. Or the general task of restoring peace in this city. If we can help with things other than weapons, we will.”

Enjolras strokes his chin. “Funny, that’s the first time you say “we”. You’ve never associated yourself with your family before.”

The displeased look returns.

“I do not approve of their business. But we have some ideals in common and Montparnasse isn’t part of them.”

“I can understand that,” Enjolras replies. “Well, Grantaire will let you know if I need your help.”

Grantaire gapes a little at the sudden display of trust.

“Yeah, I will” he says slowly.

Marius beams. “Perfect. I’ll call you soon, when your weapons are ready.”

Grantaire and Marius exchange some friendly words and they part. As soon as they get back in the car, Enjolras gives in to his curiosity.

“How did you meet him? He looks like a poor kitten forced to play with a mouse he doesn’t even want to eat. And I don’t want to sound offending, but he doesn’t seem to be the type who would… uh, go to a brothel.”

“I like the kitten metaphor. You’re right, he’s not the brothel type. But I did meet him there.” There’s a mischievous glint in Grantaire’s eyes. “His father sent him to the brothel when he reached the age to ‘become a man’ as the old man put it.”

“Oh. You were the one who had to take care of it?”

“No. I didn’t mind having sex with him, virgins are a nice change. And you’ve seen Marius, he’s just so… himself. But when he stood alone with a half naked girl in the middle of the salon, blushing furiously, I felt sorry for him. So I said I would take care of it and led him to my room. We didn’t do anything, just talked. He came back often, to keep up appearances. His father was delighted.”

“He believed it?”

“He did. You know, Marius is Marius. I don’t think losing his virginity will change anything to that.”

They are almost home. Enjolras considers what Grantaire just told him.

“It was nice of you to do that for him. Many would have only laughed.”

“He was terrified. Besides, he has the right to choose the person he wants to have his first time with. His father can’t take that away for him.”

Enjolras parks in front of the mansion, surprised to be home so fast. It always feels like this with R. The curly haired man unbuckles his belt and gets out. When Enjolras doesn’t move, he bends to look at him.

“You’re not coming?”

“I still have to go on an errand. Can I see you tonight?”

This earns him a smirk.

“You don’t have to ask. But yes, you can see me tonight.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Enjolras shows his cute side.

After returning to the mansion Grantaire spends all his time painting, trying not to get too distracted by the fact that his new art supplies all come from Enjolras. When he has exhausted himself on a representation of Enjolras looking longingly through a window, his hair basked in the sun, he flops down on his bed.

He lies there long enough to drift between sleep and consciousness, until sleep wins. It doesn’t last though, as he is awakened by something wet brushing his cheek. He groans and hopes that if he ignores the inconvenience, it will just go away. No such luck. The wet thing returns and he feels what must be a tongue passing over the tip of his nose. That’s too much.

“Oh God, Courf!” he grunts, turning on his side to straighten himself up.

He opens his eyes and finds himself nose to nose with a puppy. A small white puppy flapping his tail from side to side.

“You’re not Courf. Who are you, you fluffy little thing?”

The puppy steps forward and Grantaire reaches out to pet his head. His fur is as soft and fluffy as it looks.

“It’s a Berger blanc suisse.”

Grantaire starts and turns around. Of course, Enjolras is standing behind him with a smug smile plastered on his face.

“Are you going to creep up on me like this until I have a heart attack?” Grantaire asks, without even sounding reproachful. 

“I apologize. I didn’t want to ruin the surprise effect.”

Enjolras sits on the bed, leaving the puppy between them. Grantaire folds his legs and brings the puppy on his lap, mindful not to scare him. 

“Yeah, let me tell you that your effect totally succeeded.” Grantaire scratches under the puppy’s jaw and the little tail flaps faster. “He’s so cute… wait, is it a he?”

“Yes, it’s a he.”

“So… is he for me?” Grantaire grins. “Is he the fierce dog you talked about?”

“Yes.”

“So you do have a sense of humour.”

Enjolras had never seen such a smile on Grantaire’s face. He shrugs and pets the little dog.

“I do. But it’s very limited. You would have to wait for at least two years to hear my next joke.”

Grantaire wants to answer “Yeah, why not, if that means I’ll still be around two years from now.” But he catches himself and says instead “Can I give you a thank you kiss?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer – judging by Enjolras’ face, it’s a yes – and leans in. Enjolras meets him halfway and they share a tender kiss, soon interrupted by the puppy hopping to nuzzle their chins. Grantaire giggles and pets him again.

“Is he the reason you left this morning?” he asks. Enjolras nods. “Wow. Courf will never let you forget it. The avenging leader delaying his master plan to save Paris so that he can choose a puppy for…” 

Grantaire interrupts himself. For whom actually? In his dreams, he would say “for his boyfriend” but this is reality. As much as he would like to, he’s not Enjolras’ boyfriend.

“Well, for me.”

He doesn’t sound too miserable and Enjolras doesn’t seem to notice his momentary discomfort. 

“Did the others see him?”

“No, you’re the first” Enjolras replies. “Do you really think Jehan would have let me carry him away so fast?”

“You have a point. Let’s go, they have to meet the little warrior!”

 

They are greeted by a loud squeal when they enter the salon. Enjolras isn’t surprised that it comes from Jehan. He crouches down in front of the puppy, next to Grantaire’s feet.

“Hello you! Grantaire, where did you find it? I’ve never seen anything so cute.”

Grantaire casts a sideways glance at Enjolras and smiles.

“He’s my new ferocious dog. From Enjolras.”

Jehan’s eyes round up in surprise, but a pleased expression appears on his face. Courfeyrac whistles from the back of the room. The puppy starts to wander around, unafraid by all these new faces. When Jehan and Grantaire join Eponine and Combeferre to discuss potential names, Feuilly quietly places himself next to Enjolras.

“I know this kind of dog” Feuilly says, watching the puppy sniffing Courfeyrac’s shoes. “They are not really the ferocious type.”

“Indeed” Enjolras agrees. “But they can be protective when needed. And I think I… I supposed Grantaire would be pleased.”

“That’s nice of you, my friend.”

Feuilly laughs, startling Enjolras.

“What?”

“I was imagining Joly’s reaction. He’s going to have a heart attack.”

Enjolras laughs as well. Poor Joly, he had forgotten about him. They might have to negotiate some areas like the kitchen. Or the salon. Even the library, maybe.

They stroll to the sofa where the others are gathered. Jehan is sitting cross-legged on the floor, playing with the puppy. Courfeyrac is bent over the sofa, his chin resting on Grantaire’s head.

“What about Cannonball?”

Grantaire rolls his eyes. “No way Courf. This is why I told you from the start that your suggestions wouldn’t be taken into account.”

Courfeyrac breathes out heavily, pushing away some of Grantaire’s curls. Grantaire cranes his neck to kiss him on the cheek.

“Don’t sulk. Cannonball can be his middle name.”

“Thanks R! Enjolras, do you agree?”

“It wouldn’t be my first choice.”

“Yeah, your first choice would be Rousseau” Combeferre says.

“Maybe. Anyway, if R agrees, that’s all that matters.”

 

Later that day, after a long moment spent on assuring Joly that the dog has no flees, Enjolras finds time to join Grantaire and sprawl on his bed. Grantaire half lies on top of him, his head on Enjolras’ chest. The leader tries to ignore the disappointed yaps the puppy sends them, trying to jump on the bed.

“It’s heartbreaking” he says.

“The bed isn’t for him.”

“Have you found a name yet? Because I thought about one. Just in case.”

Grantaire rolls off of Enjolras and on his side to look at him.

“I’m all ears.”

He’s grinning and Enjolras doesn’t know why he feels so tensed. They are only talking about pet names.

“What about Laelaps?”

Grantaire raises one eyebrow. Enjolras’ heart skips a beat but he manages a casual expression. Grantaire tangles a finger in his golden curls.

“Laelaps, you say? What can you tell me about that name?”

Enjolras grabs Grantaire’s waist to bring him closer.

“You don’t like it?” he asks, his hand drifting down Grantaire’s lower back.

“I do like it. But you knew I would, so. What can you tell me about that name?”

Enjolras rolls them over, pushing Grantaire on his back and settling between his spread thighs. He frames Grantaire’s face between his hands, the skin warm under his palms.

“Laelaps was a mythical Greek dog which never failed to catch his prey.”

“You did your homework well.”

“I though you would like the reference, but I won’t be offended if you don’t –”

Grantaire shushes him with a kiss, pushing his tongue between Enjolras’ lips.

“I love it” he declares when they part. “Laelaps it is.”

As if to answer, the puppy yaps. They can hear him jump up and down furiously. Enjolras bites at the skin of Grantaire’s neck and runs his tongue over the bite mark. Grantaire’s whole body jerks forward. 

“Oh damn. Sorry, I’m really sensitive there.” 

“I’m fine with that.”

Enjolras does it again, revelling in the way Grantaire’s fingers clutch on his back. Right when Grantaire moves his hands to a more interesting place, the puppy nips at Enjolras’ jeans, where his foot hangs from the bed. Enjolras laughs and moves up the bed, toward safety.

Two minutes later, the sound of reaping fabric fills the room. Grantaire rolls on his front without untangling himself from Enjolras’ grasp to check what the puppy is doing. He sends Enjolras an incredulous look.

“Cannonball isn’t such a bad name. The little beast just ripped the quilt.”

Enjolras moves up Grantaire’s body, covering him a bit more and peeping above his shoulder to assess the damage.

“You my friend, are a little cockblocker” Grantaire says to Laelaps. “We might have a problem here.”

Enjolras kisses Grantaire’s nape, rolling him on his back again. They resume kissing languidly until Enjolras’ eyes remain for a bit too long on Grantaire’s scar. The leader tries to hide that he’s been staring, but to no avail.

“Since you’re going to ask” Grantaire says “I don’t really remember how I got it.”

“I wasn’t going to ask. You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to.”

Grantaire shrugs and lowers his eyes. “The point is, there’s not much to tell. It happened a few years ago. Some men attacked me in an alley one evening.”

He smiles at Enjolras’ murderous expression.

“I was so drunk back then that I don’t even remember if they were clients or random assholes. We probably had a fight which – as you can see – I lost.”

“So you don’t remember their faces?” Enjolras asks in a strained voice.

“No. But I might have seen the Good Samaritan who brought me to the hospital.”

Enjolras’ pulse quickens and he blinks, but he goes unnoticed as Grantaire is gazing around.

“You’re going to laugh but please remember that I was wasted that night. I think I saw an angel.”

Enjolras lets out a small breath, which Grantaire seems to misinterpret as disbelief.

“I told you, I was wasted. But the man I saw had impossibly golden hair bathing in light. In fact, he was completely surrounded by light.”

Enjolras tightens his arms around Grantaire and chuckles.

“Okay, maybe you had too much to drink.”

“That’s why I stopped drinking after that night. It took me some time to bring myself to it, but I didn’t want to go through that again. I felt so vulnerable, and not remembering what happened might be the worse.”

Grantaire plays with Enjolras’ curls again – that seems to be one of his favourite activities.

“But you know,” he adds “sometimes I feel like my brain didn’t fully recover from my drunken times.” He grins at Enjolras. “Like, when I first saw you at the brothel, I thought you were the one who had helped me that night.”

He laughs and Enjolras forces himself to join him.

“I’m sorry to disappoint, but I’m neither an angel nor a Samaritan. Though I would love getting my hands on the bastards who hurt you.”

Grantaire hums and curls on his side against Enjolras, intertwining their legs. Enjolras thinks for a moment about what he would do to these men. Many things they wouldn’t appreciate, but still not enough for his liking.

“Oh” Grantaire says, interrupting his thought process. “Do you know that ‘Ferre is the one who helped me when I quit drinking?”

For the first time today, Enjolras is truly surprised.

“He did?”

“Yeah. I met him a few months after the attack, when Courf brought him to the brothel. I was a mess. He’s been so patient with me.”

Grantaire untangles their legs and gets up, picking up the puppy which starts yapping happily. Grantaire brings him closer to Enjolras so that he can pet him.

“Your best friend truly is a good man, Enjolras” Grantaire says seriously. “Which is why I think you’re a good man too, despite what you think.”

Enjolras’ heart skips a beat. It skipped too many beats on these past few days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent a whole chapter on a dog. I'm sorry, okay? :) But I think the next few chapters will be angsty, so. That's your cuteness supply to go through them.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All good things come to an end, as a cynic would say.

The next days pass in a blur. Enjolras manages to find a balance between his work and some moments of tenderness with Grantaire. Okay, the balance tends to be more on the working side, but they spend more time together than they used to. And Enjolras almost keeps himself in check whenever he spots kisses or hugs between Grantaire and one of his men. That is, until one morning.

Enjolras is working at his desk, sitting next to a window which gives him a large view on the small park outside of the mansion. The sun is warming his skin from behind the window and he closes his eyes to revel in that comforting feeling. He also anticipates the moment when he opens his eyes and sees Grantaire playing in the park with Laelaps, like he does every morning since Enjolras brought him the puppy. And every morning, Enjolras watches their playful interaction, the sight warming his heart as much as the sun warms his skin right now.

However, when he does look outside, he feels cold. Grantaire is there, as well as the furry white ball running around him. There’s also Bahorel, walking close to Grantaire. It looks like they could be holding hands, but they are too far from Enjolras to be sure. He feels that awful rush of jealousy welling inside of him so he forces himself to focus on his computer screen.

Enjolras can’t work. All he can think about is what Grantaire and Bahorel might be doing. He takes a deep breath and risks a look outside. A groan escapes him.

Bahorel has an arm slung over Grantaire’s shoulders – something he does quite often. The gesture could be considered friendly until they stop to kiss. For a long time. Until Laelaps is offended by the lack of attention and pushes himself between the legs of the two men. Enjolras will have to reward him for that later. 

Grantaire and Bahorel part with a laugh and stroll back to the mansion, throwing a twig for Laelaps every now and then. They seem happy together. Grantaire doesn’t walk on tiptoes around Bahorel like he does with Enjolras sometimes. The leader can’t blame him though, he may have had a slightly unstable behaviour with Grantaire. By Enjolras’ point of view, that’s not a solid ground to build a trusty relationship.

Yet when he sees them acting almost like a couple, his pain and his anger mix altogether and this can bring nothing good.

 

Laelaps rushes inside when Bahorel opens the door. Grantaire moves to grab him but the puppy slips between his fingers.

“No, come here! Come here, Laelaps. We have to clean your dirty paws before you can destroy another couch.”

Laelaps runs around the hallway, yapping at Grantaire.

“Come here, little demon. Joly is going to kill me if you don’t, come.”

Bahorel crosses his arms and laughs while he watches Grantaire trying once again to catch the puppy. He manages to grab him when Laelaps heads for the staircase.

“Gotcha!”

Grantaire freezes on the spot when Enjolras appears on top of the staircase.

“Oh, hi Apollo.”

His smile dies on his lips when Enjolras gives him a hard stare. Grantaire hunches his shoulders unconsciously and steps back to get closer to Bahorel. Enjolras eyes them both and his jaw tenses.

“Don’t you have work to do?” he asks Bahorel, coming down the stairs and stopping on the last step.

Bahorel shrugs.

“Yeah. Nothing that needed to be done this morning.”

“Well, you can still do it now. I don’t pay you to spend your time frolicking in the park.”

Bahorel gapes and Grantaire stares at Enjolras. He puts Laelaps down and takes a step forward.

“Enjolras, he only joined me for twenty minutes at most. You can’t –”

“And you, I don’t pay you to tell me what I can and cannot do.”

Grantaire looks as if Enjolras had punched him. The leader stands like a marble statue with his arms crossed on his chest and his square shoulders. Grantaire swallows, the sound loud in the hallway.

“Is there something wrong here?”

They all turn at the sound of Courfeyrac’s unusually serious tone. He’s frowning, his eyes darting between the three of them.

“No” Enjolras replies. “I need a word with Grantaire. Alone.”

Bahorel opens his mouth to protest but Grantaire stops him with a shake of his head. He follows Enjolras upstairs in his office. Enjolras sits behind his desk while Grantaire closes the door, forcing himself not to slam it.

“What is wrong with you?” Grantaire asks as soon as the door has clicked in place. “What did I do to offend you this time?”

Now that Grantaire is standing in front of him with his pained expression, Enjolas realizes that he might have overreacted.

“You didn’t offend me. I… I saw you in the park with Bahorel.”

Grantaire raises his eyebrows. “Yeah? So?”

“I saw you kissing and it…”

Enjolras doesn’t know what to say. Whatever he’s going to tell Grantaire, it will sound ridiculous. However Grantaire seems to put two and two together.

“Are you jealous?”

“No” he replies too fast. “Maybe. Look, all I want to say is that acting like this with my men isn’t really… hum, professional. I mean, it might blur the line between work and feelings and –”

Grantaire raises a hand to stop him. He’s pale and his fingers are shaking, but Enjolras knows it’s not because he’s afraid.

“Not professional?” Grantaire laughs harshly. “Are you kidding? You are, right? First, let me tell you that when I act like this with you, you don’t seem to think it’s not professional. Second, you’re the one who blurred that fucking line when you asked me to come here, to live with you!”

He raises his voice on his last words. Enjolras feels a rush of heat coming to his cheeks and he stands, the movement pushing his chair back against the wall.

“You blurred that line every time you kissed or held me in your arms” Grantaire adds. “Don’t you see there’s nothing clear in what we do?”

“You don’t have to act as if you and Bahorel were a couple!” Enjolras counters.

“We kissed, Enjolras, that’s all! Just like I kiss any of you. Seriously, what did you think was going to happen when you asked me to come here?”

Grantaire runs a hand through his curls, making them even wilder, and presses his lips in a thin line. All his anger leaves Enjolras within a second. He feels exhausted.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I just don’t like all these displays of affection.”

Judging from Grantaire’s scoff, he chose the wrong words.

“Displays of affection?” Grantaire echoes. “So, what do you call it when you offer me paints, or a puppy? Huh?”

“Okay, you have a point” Enjolras sighs. “I’m possessive, that’s all.”

Grantaire leans above the desk and shoves his index in the middle of Enjolras’ chest.

“That’s all about jealousy then? Why? Is that a weird dominant male thing? You’re the boss, so you want me all for yourself?”

“What? No, of course not.”

But Grantaire isn’t listening to him anymore. He straightens and steps back, looking weary.

“Because if it is, say it. Say it to me, or your men. Just fucking say it and don’t treat us like shit.”

“R…”

“No. Call me Grantaire, okay? Let’s stick to professional from now on.”

Grantaire’s hands are trembling even more than earlier and he shoves them in the pockets of his jacket to hide it.

“I ran out of condoms, so I have to go to town with Bahorel this afternoon. Is that allowed? It should be, otherwise our professional relationship might be compromised.”

Enjolras ignores the provocation and only manages to nod. He feels stupid and empty, as if something had been ripped from him. Worse part is that he’s the one who ripped it.

“Thank you” Grantaire says dryly.

He leaves and this time the door slams behind him, the sound echoing for long minutes in Enjolras’ head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot is (finally) moving on with the next chapter. Promise.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire was warned - stabbing Claquesous doesn't go unpunished.

Bahorel immediately notices something is wrong when Grantaire slams the door of the car with a little more energy than necessary. He raises a questioning eyebrow while starting the car.

“Enjolras and I had a fight” Grantaire explains.

“Oh. He did seem a bit grumpy. Is it nosy if I ask what the fight was about? I feel like I might be involved.”

Bahorel sees Grantaire huff out a breath from the corner of his eyes. He is always amazed by Grantaire’s capacity to be highly sarcastic without uttering a word.

“Don’t worry” Grantaire replies, all sarcasm gone. “It’s not your fault. It was bound to happened, that’s all. I just should have seen it coming.”

“Was it a fit of jealousy? Because Enjolras is totally the type for that.”

Bahorel tries to sound cheerful but Grantaire shrugs in defeat.

“Yeah, I think it was. I don’t know what to do.”

They stop at a red sign and Bahorel uses the opportunity to turn towards him, shaking his shoulder softly with his calloused hand.

“Whatever you decide, R, if you want to stop what we’re doing now, don’t feel guilty about it. Because you’re also the type for that.”

Grantaire puts a hand on top of Bahorel’s, still gazing ahead.

“Problem is, I don’t know what I want. I’m not sure I want to stop. And I barely know Enjolras.”

“Oh come on. We’re both aware that your last point is not valid at all.”

Bahorel removes his hand and resumes driving.

“Don’t worry, R. You just need time to think about all this. And Enjolras will calm down, he always does. He tends to get harsh when he cares a lot about something. Or someone. Is that your dog shop?”

“What? Ah, yes.”

“I still can’t believe he bought a puppy,” Bahorel muses when they get out of the car.

At last, Grantaire laughs. They spend more time than necessary in the shop, since Bahorel turns out to be much pickier than Grantaire about which collar would fit Laelaps best. They settle on a red one, after much insistence from Grantaire and a firm “Anyway, Laelaps is my puppy.”

Once they are done, they drive to the suburbs, to one of the gang’s warehouses.

“I need to retrieve some old stuff there. Mainly computer hardware for Bossuet” Bahorel explains.

When they get there, Grantaire notices that this part of town is much quieter. Actually, there’s no one around the warehouse and the buildings in the area look old and degraded, as if abandoned. Which is probably the case, Grantaire thinks.

“Is it safe here?” he asks.

“Theoretically, yes. But nowadays, I’m not sure of anything regarding security, so you’re coming with me.”

“Wouldn’t it be wiser if I stayed in the car in case someone comes?”

Bahorel shakes his head vigorously. “No. I’m not leaving you alone. Don’t even think about arguing – Enjolras’ orders.”

Grantaire sighs and follows Bahorel, who opens the heavy metal door with a rusted key. He shivers when the door creaks closed behind them. Thankfully, Bahorel is quick to find what he needs, but Grantaire’s relief is short-lived. 

Bahorel slides the metal door aside and gets out first. Grantaire steps forward to follow but Bahorel raises one arm in front of him, blocking him aside.

“What…” Grantaire says.

He never ends his sentence. A gunshot rings out and Bahorel falls down with a shout, hands clasping on a thigh.

“Rel!”

“You stay where you are.”

Grantaire knows that voice. Now that Bahorel’s body isn’t blocking his view anymore, he can see a car parked behind theirs, blocking their exit. Claquesous is leaning back against the hood of Bahorel’s car, gun in hand. Grantaire is prompt to spot Babet and Gueulemer on each side of the door, slowly getting closer.

Despite Claquesous’ warning, Grantaire bends above Bahorel. His fingers are tight around his leg, soaked with blood.

“Fucking shit” Bahorel grunts.

“Get up” Claquesous orders Grantaire. “Get up and come here.”

“You’re dead, Claquesous” Bahorel hisses between gritted teeth.

“Says the man lying on the ground with a bullet in his leg” Babet sniggers.

Grantaire reaches for his knife in his back pocket, but Claquesous points his gun towards him.

“That’s it” he sneers. “Take this fucking knife out and throw it on the ground. Now!”

Grantaire obeys and Gueulemer closes on him, grabbing him by his shirt and tearing him away from Bahorel. Grantaire tries to kick but Gueulemer plasters him against his chest, locking one of his arms behind his back in a painful grip. They back up step by step, until they reach Claquesous. The man runs the tip of his gun along Grantaire’s face.

“Now, we are the ones who will play with your knife.” He shows Grantaire his bandaged hand, the one stabbed at the café. “I warned you. You will regret that.”

“If you touch him, we will tear you to pieces!” Bahorel shouts.

Claquesous rolls his eyes and strides towards him.

“I’ve been waiting so long for that moment” he mutters.

Then he kicks Bahorel’s face, and Grantaire hears a horrible crack.

“No!” he screams.

He tries to head butt Gueulemer but the man sees it coming and grabs Grantaire’s jaw, keeping his head back on his shoulder. Arched like this, Grantaire can’t do anything.

“Not so proud anymore, eh?” Gueulemer slurs in his ear. “What do you think will happen to you now?”

Grantaire helplessly watches Claquesous – joined by Babet – kick Bahorel again and again. He shouts for them to stop hitting him, his screams mixed to Bahorel’s pained ones. At one point, Bahorel doesn’t even have the strength to curl up and protect his face. Grantaire renews his struggle, twisting in Gueulemer’s grasp.

“Make him shut up!” Claquesous orders Gueulemer.

The man abruptly releases Grantaire, who falls on the ground. He kicks him in the stomach and all air leaves Grantaire’s lungs. He gasps, unable to stop the next blow. Gueulemer punches his face and his vision blurs. One last hit and everything goes black.

 

“Where are they? Fuck, where are they?”

Enjolras is pacing in his study under worried stares from Combeferre and Courfeyrac.

“I tried to call them both but they don’t answer” Courf says.

“I know. I did too. I don’t like this. We should have put cameras around the warehouse,” Enjolras adds.

“You didn’t want any record of our activities there” Combeferre reminds gently. “Calm down, it might be nothing. I’ll go check on them with Courf.”

Just when Enjolras opens his mouth to reply, Eponine bursts into the room, a little out of breath, hair wild around her face.

“We have a problem. Bossuet spotted their car in the recordings of the city cameras. Looks like they were followed on the way to the warehouse. We can’t see who it is but…”

“I know who it is” Enjolras interrupts. “We’re going.”

He takes a gun out of his desk with a look so threatening that even Courfeyrac pales a little. Eponine runs to warn Feuilly, Joly and Bossuet that they’ll be back soon.

“Prepare some emergency kit” she adds after a hesitation.

The ride to the warehouse has never seemed so long to Enjolras. He’s both annoyed and glad that Combeferre forbid him to take the wheel – he certainly would have caused an accident by now.  
He feels worse when they reach their destination. The warehouse is open and there’s a body on the floor, curled up on the side. Enjolras can’t see who it is, but he knows from the size of the body that it can’t be Grantaire.

“Shit, it’s Rel!” Eponine exclaims.

She jumps out of the car, careful to draw her gun out. Courfeyrac follows, covering her. Before Enjolras gets out, Combeferre grabs his arm to stop him.

“Whatever happens now,” he says in a calm voice, “don’t do anything reckless.”

Enjolras nods curtly and they join Eponine and Courf, bent above Bahorel. When he sees his face, Enjolras feels his blood boiling. Bahorel’s nose is probably broken and he already has an eye so swollen it’s closed. He has been shot in the leg, and his ragged breath indicates that he surely has some broken ribs. Yet he is trying to talk.

“I… tried” he pants. “They, they… took him. But I couldn’t…”

“Hush” Combeferre urges him. “We’re taking you home.”

“Gonna kill them” Bahorel whispers.

“Yes,” Eponine says, “as soon as we get you back on your legs. Now stop talking.”

Bahorel shakes his weakly. “Claquesous said… he said they will contact us… soon.”

Courfeyrac turns to Enjolras, who still hasn’t moved, gaze lost. He grabs the leader’s shoulders.

“Enjolras! Enj, look at me. R is alive. If they wanted to kill him they would have done it already. We’ll find him.”

“We will find him, Enjolras” Combeferre echoes.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire meets Montparnasse and Enjolras is more than ready to kill someone.

Grantaire wakes in shock when he feels cold water splashing over him. He blinks and tries to escape it but he can’t walk and realizes that he doesn’t feel his hands and upper arms. He panics and raises his head. His arms are tied above his head, by a chain hooked to the ceiling. Grantaire tries to pull on it but only manages to hurt his wrists with the metal shackles.

As he awakes, the recent events all come back at once. What about Bahorel? Is he still alive? 

He also becomes aware of the ache in his shoulders. They probably left him hanging like this for some time. Now he can support his weight and his arms are less stretched out. He grabs the chain between his hands and pulls again.

“That won’t get you anywhere, you know.”

Grantaire lowers his head and sees a man standing a few feet away, bucket still in hand. He’s tall and thin, with strands of light brown hair hanging on his face.

“Who are you?”

The man puts his bucket down and goes to Grantaire, circling him. Grantaire tries to follow his movement so that the man doesn’t get behind him, but the chain isn’t helping. And his bare feet tend to slip on the wet floor.

“You don’t recognize me, R?”

Grantaire steps back, as much as he can.

“How do you..?”

The man approaches and grabs his neck, forcing his head to the side.

“That’s how you presented yourself, that night. I thought we would never see each other again.”

“What are you talking about?”

With his other hand, the man caresses his scar. Grantaire’s eyes widen.

“It was you?” he exclaims.

Grantaire shakes his head violently and frees himself, only to be grabbed by someone behind him. Two arms snake around his chest, clutching his wet shirt.

“I couldn’t wait for you to wake up, babe” Gueulemer says in his ear.

This time, Grantaire can’t escape.

“Let me go!”

“Yeah, that’s what you also said that night,” the first man says.

Grantaire narrows his eyes towards him.

“Montparnasse” he hisses. “You’re Montparnasse.”

Montparnasse’s face splits in a wide grin. He raises his hands in victory and turns to the left side of the room, addressing someone Grantaire can’t see.

“Ah, what did I say Claquesous? I told you he would put two and two together.”

“He’s still a bit slow” Claquesous replies from his corner. “Well, Enjolras surely doesn’t need him to be witty.”

Gueulemer’s hands slide down Grantaire’s sides and settle on his hips. He squeezes painfully and push Grantaire’s waist forward.

“I’m sure he has many other talents to compensate” he declares.

“Touch me and you will have to compensate for your missing dick” Grantaire threatens.

Gueulemer spins him around and hits him hard across the face. Grantaire keeps from whimpering – he won’t give them that pleasure. He runs his tongue on his lower lip and the metallic taste confirms that it’s split.

“Enough, boys” Montparnasse says in a lecturing tone. “We have something essential to do.”

He takes a phone out of his pocket and Grantaire recognizes it as his.

“We have to tell Enjolras that his toy isn’t lost.”

Grantaire forces himself to laugh mockingly.

“If you think Enjolras will come for me… You should reorganize your evil plan.”

“Then we disagree, my lovely R. The whole point is that it doesn’t matter if he cares about you or not. He will come because I provoked him.”

Montparnasse presses his thumb on Grantaire’s split lip, smearing the blood down his chin. Then he brings his thumb to his own mouth and licks it clean, all the while studying Grantaire’s face.

“What you need to understand, R, is that you don’t matter. If Enjolras comes here and kills all of us – as you certainly hope – he could very well discard you ten days later.”

Gueulemer’s hands are back on Grantaire’s hips, massaging them slowly. The young man closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He fights the panic rising inside of him, tries to focus on his breathing.

“This is not about feelings” Montparnasse goes on. “It’s about winning.”

“Speak for yourself” Grantaire hisses.

“Oh. Are your feelings involved?” Montparnasse asks, his eyes bright with interest. “Or Enjolras’?”

“You’re the smart one here. Make a guess.”

“My guess is that it will be so much funnier if there are feelings involved.”

Montparnasse taps quickly on the screen of Grantaire’s phone and lets out a contented little cry.

“I think I just found the number of your dear leader. And there are definitely some feelings here.” He hits the dial button and puts the phone against his ear. “Babet, gag him. We don’t want him to shout insanities while the grown-ups talk.”

 

“They said they would contact us. Why don’t they?”

“I don’t know, Courf” Enjolras replies.

They’ve been waiting for hours. Combeferre and Joly took Bahorel to the infirmary, where they are still taking care of him, while the others joined Bossuet and Feuilly in the monitoring room, unable to focus on anything. Eponine spent the whole time playing angrily with her knife in a corner.

Enjolras hates waiting and can’t blame Courfeyrac for being so impatient. He’s only voicing what everyone thinks.

“At least I had enough time to get my equipment ready” Bossuet says. “We’ll be able to localize the phone when they call.”

Right when Enjolras is going to approve, his own phone starts buzzing.

“It’s Grantaire.”

He answers and puts his phone on speaker, while Bossuet spins on his computer chair to launch the geolocation system.

“Grantaire?”

“Apollo?”

They all exchange a worried look. That suave voice isn’t Grantaire’s. Unfortunately, Enjolras recognizes this voice.

“Montparnasse” he sighs.

“My dear Enjolras. Apologies for the stupid nickname. That’s how you’re called in our common friend’s phonebook.”

“You’d better –”

“Shh, don’t interrupt” Montparnasse counters joyfully. “I’ve been waiting for too long to talk with you, so now listen.”

Enjolras has to bite his lip to keep from screaming some threats, almost drawing blood.

“As you know, R is with us. Don’t worry, we’re taking good care of him. I suppose this provides you some relief, right?”

They all wait for a few seconds in silence. Enjolras cocks his head to the side, unsure of what to say.

“Do you actually want an answer to that?” he eventually asks.

“Well yes. It’s very important for what’s to come. But you have to be honest, that’s the key here. Because if you care, that’s very good news for Grantaire’s future. If you don’t, I don’t see the point in keeping him alive any longer…”

Enjolras wants to scream, to find Montparnasse right now and make him suffer in a hundred different ways. However, his tone is calm and controlled when he answers.

“Okay, stop. I do. I care for him.”

“Ah, you see R, things are getting interesting!” Montparnasse exclaims, and Enjolras can imagine him too well leaning close to Grantaire, maybe ruffling his curls in a mocking gesture.

They all hear a muffled groan through the speaker, which could sound like “fuck you”. The sound is enough for Enjolras to recognize Grantaire.

“R!” he says quickly, “I will find you, I promise!”

“Yeah yeah” Montparnasse replies “no need for such theatrical words. I’ll let you talk to him, you will even see each other.”

Enjolras’ gaze is focused on his phone but he can see the others straightening or leaning forward with attention, like Courfeyrac, with Laelaps cuddled on his lap.

“When?” he asks.

“Soon, very soon. Give me a Skype address.”

Enjolras has to admit that he expected a meeting, but well, he has no choice so he complies. They wait for Montparnasse to take note of the address. The silence, even short, is unbearable and it gets worse when it’s broken by soft, distant whines. Enjolras sees red.

“Hurt him and I’ll kill you!” he exclaims.

“Please” Montparnasse answers. “We’re only having some fun. Now, go in front of your computer and wait. Once we’re done with our, let’s say recreational time, I’ll call you. Bye bye, Enjy.”

Enjolras closes his fist around his phone, but before he has time to smash it against the wall, Eponine is on her feet and in front of him, both hands tight around his.

“Don’t. We might need it again.”

She only loosens her grip when she feels Enjolras’ fingers relaxing, which takes some time. However, she doesn’t release his hand yet.

“When we get to them” she says, “I’ll do whatever you command.”

Enjolras looks dumbfounded. As much as Eponine is faithful to him, she’s not the type to act blindly without questioning anything.

“Whatever you ask” she repeats, “I’ll do it.”

“Same here” Courfeyrac adds.

“We all follow you, whatever happens” Bossuet says, to which Feuilly gives a nod.

A cold smile stretches Enjolras’ lips.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Montparnasse decides to play a little game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for torture in this one. It's not too detailed, but it's still there.

They wait for almost an hour. It feels like days to Enjolras. They are all gathered except for Joly and Bahorel, still in the infirmary. Combeferre had practically admitted that they had to sedate Bahorel to keep him from coming too.

Enjolras remains motionless in a chair, looking at his surroundings without paying attention to it. Laelaps is lying between his feet, calmer than usual.

Enjolras would love to remain focused on how he will make Montparnasse pay, however his mind keeps coming back to Grantaire, to what he might be enduring right now, while he is waiting uselessly in front of a computer screen.

At last, Montparnasse calls. Combeferre stops Enjolras’ hand a second before he clicks on the accepting button.

“Don’t forget, Enjolras. They won’t kill him.”

Combeferre steps back and Enjolras answers the call. Bossuet immediately transfers the image on a big screen and starts to record the video.

At first, the image is too dark for them to see anything but then someone lights the room on camera and Enjolras feels sick. Grantaire is there, tied on a chair and shivering. He has a split lip and there is dried blood under his nose. Also, the beginning of a black eye. Otherwise, he looks okay – as much as he can be – and he is alive. That’s all that matters for now.

Someone else appears in the frame. They don’t see the head of this person due to the camera angle, but Enjolras knows who it is, without a doubt. The man walks behind Grantaire, who flinches violently, and threads his fingers in his hair. Enjolras wants to cut those fingers one by one.

The man grabs a chair next to Grantaire and sits down. Montparnasse, of course. Enjolras hears Jehan’s disdainful grunt. He doesn’t need to see the others’ reaction to know that they all feel the same.

“I’m sorry, we took some time” Montparnasse cackles. “But R is a delight, I can see why you guys are so fond of him.”

Enjolras’ gaze flicks to Grantaire. He seems ready to spit at Montparnasse’s face and as much as Enjolras would like to encourage it, he hopes Grantaire won’t do it.

“What do you want, Montparnasse? We’re all here listening to you and we are very aware of how much you are in control of this situation. So what else do you want?”

Enjolras has a hard time keeping the scorn from his voice and he tries not to pay too much attention to the way Grantaire’s eyes snap toward the screen, full of hope and fear. It’s too hard.

“What I want” Montparnasse answers matter-of-factly, “is for you to realize how much you failed. How much you have to lose.”

“One of my men is still taken care of and you kidnapped another, so I realized already, thank you.”

Combeferre kicks Enjolras’ leg.

On screen, Montparnasse bursts into a genuine laugh. He turns to Grantaire.

“You heard that, R? Apparently, you’re one of his men. Congratulations babe, you got a promotion.”

Enjolras cringes at the nickname. Even Combeferre crosses his arms tightly, fighting to stay calm. Montparnasse focuses back on Enjolras.

“It’s funny, I would have rather said that he’s your fuck toy. No more.”

“Well, he’s not” Enjolras says between gritted teeth. “He’s important. That’s what you wanted me to admit, isn’t it? I admit it, he’s important and you struck me hard! Now, tell me what you really want.”

Enjolras glances at Grantaire, who seems in shock. If only he could have said all these things in other circumstances. 

“A bit of fun, that’s all I ask for” Montparnasse answers, raising his hands in an appeasing gesture. “Is it so much to ask for, considering you’ve been a pain in my ass for months?”

“R has nothing to do with all this, asshole!” Courfeyrac interrupts. Feuilly grabs his shoulder to keep him away from the screen.

“Ah, your men are here. Good, the more the merrier. Let’s play a little game! I love being the matchmaker, but for that I need complete honesty from the participants.”

“Please, stop” Grantaire says weakly. “Whatever you want, I’ll do it, but please stop.”

“Too late for that, honey.” Montparnasse pats him on the cheek. “Okay, first question is for Enjolras. We’ll start easy: how many times did you fuck him? Once a day?”

Enjolras feels his insides turn. So this is all a sick game, solely aiming to break and humiliate them. Montparnasse gets tired of his reluctance and waves a knife in front of the camera.

“Want to see what happens if you don’t play by the rules?”

“Fine. I… I didn’t.”

Montparnasse’s surprise isn’t faked. “What? You didn’t fuck him? You wanted to take your time, nice. And you R, do you want him to fuck you? Woops, silly question. Of course you do, you’d be up for anyone.”

Grantaire’s face reddens and he tries to look away, but Montparnasse grips his chin and forces him to look at Enjolras.

“Actually, he offered me – and my men – some of his services, just before I called you. A whore is a whore, I guess.”

Grantaire’s eyes get shiny and he struggles in Montparnasse’s hold.

“It’s not what you think Enjolras, I promise” Grantaire babbles. “I promise, I promise –”

For a second Enjolras forgets that Grantaire isn’t actually here and reaches out to touch his face. Reality gets even crueller when he feels the cold screen beneath his fingers.

“It’s okay, R. He can say whatever he wants.”

“Oh, he has other questions” Montparnasse says. “Your turn, R. Do you – by any chance – love Enjy?”

Enjolras watches Grantaire close his eyes for a second. When he reopens them, he’s looking resolutely at Enjolras.

“You’re not taking that away from me” Grantaire says.

Enjolras frowns and leans away from the screen. Grantaire seems to realize that he misunderstood his words and smiles.

“He’s not taking that away from me” he whispers only for Enjolras, even though everyone can hear.

Suddenly Grantaire shakes his head and escapes Montparnasse’s grip. He takes advantage of the other’s confusion to head-butt him and Montparnasse disappears off the frame with a cry.

“Fuck you!” Grantaire shouts. “You’re not taking him away, you won’t–”

Grantaire’s shouts turn into muffled sounds when another man comes behind him and keeps his head still, a hand over his mouth. Montparnasse gets up shakily, knife in hand.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Enjolras pleads. “Parnasse, don’t. Ask me another question, please.”

“Oh, don’t worry Enjy. I’m still playing. But that was a wrong answer and wrong answers have to be punished. Gueulemer, keep him still.”

Grantaire’s eyes widen with fear – no terror, Enjolras mentally corrects. However, the leader knows R won’t beg. Enjolras isn’t above begging in his place.

“Please Montparnasse, he was just being stupid. You win, okay? Just please don’t do this.”

Montparnasse secures his grip around the knife and grasps Grantaire’s hair. He raises his blade and they all can see Grantaire trying to squirm away, but his head is caught in an iron grip. Enjolras is at a loss of words. His pleas have no effect. He only hears the blood pulsating in his ears, only sees Grantaire screwing his eyes shut.

“Don’t! I’ll do whatever you want, Montparnasse!” Enjolras repeats.

Montparnasse lowers the knife at the corner of Grantaire’s right eye and Enjolras knows what he’s going to do. Grantaire does to, judging from the way his body starts shaking.

“Montparnasse, I swear you’ll live long enough to regret it!” Combeferre threatens.

Montparnasse remains focused on Grantaire’s face.

“Don’t distract me” he mutters. “We want our work to be symmetrical, don’t we? Brace yourself, R, it’s going to sting.”

“No, no stop!”

Enjolras’ protests get lost in Grantaire’s scream as the blade pushes into his skin, going down towards his temple. Grantaire tries to stifle his scream several times but Montparnasse moves the knife at an agonizing pace. Blood floods down his cheek, mixing with tears.

Combeferre stares at the screen, clenching his fists, while Jehan turns away, both hands clasped on his mouth. After what seems to be hours, Montparnasse steps back as well as Gueulemer, who shoves Grantaire’s head aside in the process. Grantaire still has his eyes shut and keeps whimpering, sucking deep breaths through his clenched teeth. Montparnasse lowers himself in front of the screen so that he can see Enjolras.

“I’m not in the mood to play anymore. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay Enj? Or maybe the day after tomorrow, not sure yet.”

Enjolras doesn’t have time to protest, Montparnasse ends the call. They all remain silent for a while.

“I’m going to have so much pleasure killing this asshole” Courfeyrac whispers.

Enjolras doesn’t lift his eyes from the screen when he answers.

“No. I will.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras and the Amis prepare to strike back, while R receives unexpected help.

Enjolras needs to be alone. He finds shelter in Grantaire’s room and stands in the middle of it for a while. Since Grantaire moved in, Enjolras has never been alone in this room, it was always the two of them. Which makes Grantaire’s absence even crueller. Enjolras looks around and his eyes stop on the canvas next to the window. He doesn’t know what Grantaire painted on it, as it was either covered or turned away from view when he was there.

Enjolras didn’t want to pry and never asked Grantaire to show him, but now he wants to see it. He has to. 

The painting is breathtaking. The colours and the light are subtle and a sense of serenity evades from the picture. But most of all, it’s Enjolras’ portrait, sitting at his desk by the window. He’s the one Grantaire decided to paint. With this thought, something breaks in Enjolras and he buries his face in his palms, staggering back until he hits the bed. He flops down, sobs escaping him. He fights to keeps his tears in, but the burning in his eyes increases and he gives in.

Enjolras stays like this, crying in his hands, until he feels a light push against his jeans. He sniffs and wipes his tears away. Laelaps is there, looking up at him.

“I know, you’re sad” Enjolras says. “We all are.”

Laelaps whines and Enjolras can’t resist, he takes him in his arms and lies back on the bed.

“Come here. R would kill me for it but we won’t tell him.”

Laelaps licks his cheeks, lapping the tears.

“Or maybe we will. I’ll get him back and we will tell him. Then he’ll scowl at me, and he’ll be beautiful and… here. He’ll be here.”

A new flow of tears comes up. Laelaps lies down next to Enjolras and plasters himself to his side.

“He’ll be here and I’ll let him scowl at me all day if he wants to.”

There’s a soft knock on the door, which he left open when he came in.

“Enjolras?”

The leader sits, pulling Laelaps on his lap. He only needs a glance to see that Jehan’s eyes are reddened too when he comes to sit next to him.

“We make a glorious pair, don’t we?” Enjolras says.

“Yeah. Well, Ferre and Courf don’t look so good either. None of the others does.” Jehan sighs, and twists his fingers together. “I haven’t told anything to Bahorel yet. I said I would give him news as soon as possible, but I can’t.”

“I will. I’m the one who should do it, considering that… I’ve been an ass to him. And to R. Can you believe that the last thing I told R was that he was not professional enough with Bahorel and the others? I’ve been an ass to him and now… I’m not even sure we’ll ever see him again. I wish I could go back in time.”

“But you can’t” Jehan says in a soft tone. “However, you can change Montparnasse’s plans.”

“I have to wait here for his damn call. I can’t change anything, Jehan.”

“Nonsense!” Jehan exclaims, and both Enjolras and Laelaps start. “You’re Enjolras, our leader. You don’t have to wait for this scum’s good will. You’re Enjolras,” he repeats. “You don’t wait.”

“It’s R we’re talking about. I don’t want to endanger him more.”

“Waiting is worse. Montparnasse won’t release R. You have to take him back.”

“You’re right. Yes…” 

Enjolras frowns and stares at his feet, and Jehan recognizes this as a sign that he is going to come up with a plan soon.

“Can you take care of Laelaps?” he asks, turning toward Jehan. “I’m going to talk to Bahorel. Tell the others that we’ll have a meeting after that.”

Jehan allows a ferocious smile to stretch his lips. “I’m glad to hear this.”

 

Bahorel is alone in the infirmary when Enjolras steps in. He appears to be asleep, but he tries to sit up when the leader comes closer. Enjolras puts his hands on his shoulders, pushing him down with care.

“Don’t move. You need rest.”

“Oh God, please don’t sound like Joly. I have heard this sentence a thousand times.”

Bahorel’s face is like one big bruise – and Enjolras doesn’t want to see the state of his ribcage – but his temper is intact.

“You don’t need to sit to hear me speaking” Enjolras replies while taking a chair. “Listen, I’m sorry for… barking at you earlier. I was being an idiot.”

“A jealous idiot. But it’s fine, really. I would rather have news about R.”

Enjolras bites his lower lip, his gaze flickering once between the floor and Bahorel’s face.

“He’s… We had a video call from Montparnasse. It’s –it’s bad.”

“I’m going to crush this fucker’s head with my bare hands” Bahorel groans.

“I don’t doubt your enthusiasm, but you’re in no state for that. We’ll have to do that without you, my friend.”

“What? Because of a few cracked ribs? That wouldn’t stop you!”

“And a bullet in the leg” Enjolras reminds him. “You won’t be left out, don’t worry. I’m going to hold a meeting, you can come in a wheelchair.”

That is too much. Bahorel sits up with a grunt, and Enjolras can’t stop him.

“You’re not putting me in a damn wheelchair, I can walk.”

“No, you received too many sedatives lately, and should I repeat myself, also because Joly removed a bullet from your leg. It’s the wheelchair of nothing. Joly!” Enjolras calls before Bahorel can open his mouth again.

As expected, Joly isn’t far, working on a room next to this one. Soon he pokes his head in.

“Yes?”

“We’re having a meeting, bring a wheelchair for Bahorel” Enjolras says as he heads for the exit. “If he doesn’t comply, sedate him again.”

 

It doesn’t take long to gather everyone – including Bahorel in his wheelchair – and Enjolras is quick to expose his plan.

“First of all, we must figure out how they knew that Bahorel and R were at the warehouse.”

“There is no camera on the whole way indicating that you’re going to the warehouse for sure” Bossuet explains. “Even if they had hacked our system, or the system of the city, that’s not how they found out.”

“Moreover, we checked our system” Feuilly adds. “They didn’t get into it.”

“What about physically spying on the mansion?” Enjolras asks.

“Impossible.” Eponine counters. “I check our surroundings night and morning, they would have nowhere to hide. And our camera system around the house prevents that too.”

“I would have noticed if they had followed us straight from the mansion” Bahorel groans. “There isn’t so much traffic around here.”

“Indeed. Plus, I don’t think they have enough spies to follow us in the city. Even Paris is too big for them” Combeferre muses. “How did they do it then? Without using the monitoring system or following us, they couldn’t have known. And I don’t picture Claquesous waiting for us at the warehouse, we rarely use it.”

“Maybe… maybe they did follow us” Courfeyrac says, eyes going round with understanding. “Some of our cars have a GPS system. They can track that.”

“Shit. My car has one. I tend to get lost” Bossuet explains quickly. “It’s the car Bahorel also uses.”

“Oooh… mine has one too” Jehan admits. “That’s how they found us at the café. Probably tracked the car, then followed us by foot.”

“I hate saying it, but they are good at this” Courfeyrac mutters. “What about you, Ponine?”

The remaining car is hers, even though she often lends it – okay, with some difficulty – to Courfeyrac or Joly.

“What? The GPS? I don’t need a damn GPS, thank you.”

“Perfect,” Enjolras declares. “We’ll use this one then.” He takes a deep breath. “We’re going to attack them.”

“Alone?” Combeferre inquires, doubt evident in his voice.

“No. I’m going to call Pontmercy – R’s contact – to get our weapons, and some extra help. His family seems to be willing to get rid of Montparnasse, they will not miss this opportunity. Once we agree on a meeting point, Ferre and Ponine will go. I have to stay here for Montparnasse’s call.”

Enjolras turns to Bossuet and Feuilly. “Since we have Montparnasse’s address, print out the plans of his building. Everything you can find, from rooftop to cellar or even hidden tunnels.”

“Hidden tunnels would be a blessing” Courfeyrac muses.

“Jehan, check all the weapons we have. Make sure everything is working, polish all the blades. I’ll help you if needed.”

“Also, check in my locker if you have time” Bahorel interrupts. “I’m pretty sure I still have some grenades there.”

Joly looks up. His expression – both surprised and scandalized – would be comical in another context. “Grenades? You never told me you had grenades. Are you aware of how dangerous they are?”

“Yes. That’s why I never told you.”

“Anyway, I allowed the grenades” Enjolras declares, settling the matter. “Courf, you’ll help Jehan. Joly, make sure you have everything you need in the infirmary. I’m afraid we’ll need your skills soon. If something’s missing, two of us will go to town and get it. Oh, and keep an eye on Bahorel.”

“So what,” the big man says “I don’t get anything to do? They got R when he was under my watch, I have to be a part of this. It’s my fault –”

“It’s not” Enjolras replies, his face darkening. “It never was, and it’ll never be your fault. We almost lost you and I’m not going to further endanger you.”

“I’m not a cripple!” Bahorel shouts.

“You’ll help me in the infirmary” Joly suggests. “There’s enough work for two.”

Bahorel grumbles his agreement and with that, the first part of Enjolras’ plan is laid out.

“Now let’s hope that Marius will have what we need.”

 

“Maybe you went too far.”

“Nonsense, Gueulemer. Nothing is too much when it comes to Enjolras” Montparnasse replies with a wave of his hand.

“What do we do with him?” Claquesous asks, nodding towards Grantaire.

“Hm? Oh, you can chain the princess in her dungeon again.”

Grantaire wants to scream and hit Montparnasse, beat him to a pulp. But his voice his hoarse and he’s in so much pain he can’t think straight. He feels hands untying him and dragging him back in the room he woke up in the first time. At least the chain is long enough for him to lie on the floor. He wouldn’t be able to stand.

As soon as he is alone, he pushes on his trembling hands and drags himself to a corner. His bound wrists don’t make the task easier. It is futile and he is still aching and alone, but at least he feels less exposed once he is there. 

Grantaire touches his right cheek with the tip of his fingers and winces. There is blood sticking there, and even along his throat, and he is still bleeding. He puts his hands under his uninjured cheek and curls on his side. He can’t focus on anything, his thoughts all mix in his head. What will Enjolras think of him now, after seeing him like this? And after what Montparnasse said. It’s true Grantaire offered them his services. They had been beating him – to make him presentable, Montparnasse had said. But that’s not the reason why he had offered. He did when they talked about luring Enjolras in, doing worse things to him than they did to Grantaire. So, he had offered and Montparnasse had replied that he would take it into consideration. Now Enjolras surely thinks that Grantaire would do anything to save his own skin. Pathetic.

Long minutes – hours perhaps, he loses track of time – pass until someone comes in. Grantaire follows his instincts and sits up, knees drawn up against his chest, and he plasters himself against the wall. If only he could disappear in it.

The person approaching must be Gueulemer, at least that’s what Grantaire supposes. His left eye is so swollen it is almost shut, and it hurts to keep the other one open. Once the person crouches in front of him, Grantaire knows he was right. He curls more, making the chain click against the floor, never looking away from Gueulemer.

“Bloody and humiliated, and still glaring” Gueulemer says. “I appreciate that.”

“You came here to gloat?” Each word is a torture. “Didn’t you have your fun already?”

Gueulemer doesn’t answer. He reaches inside of his jacket and takes a small bottle out. Grantaire squints to get a better look and his heart starts racing. Is it… it looks like lube. No, it can’t be…

“No!”

He hides his face between his arms, crying out when he touches his cut.

“Oh please” Gueulemer sighs. “It’s only disinfectant.”

Grantaire looks up. Now that he better studies the bottle, it could be disinfectant. But again, he doesn’t really see anything and he’s not going to trust Gueulemer. No way in hell. Gueulemer puts the bottle down and stands up. He leaves, coming back thirty seconds later with a basin of water and a pack of compresses. He takes several compresses and brings them close to Grantaire’s injury. Grantaire’s arms fly up and he pushes Gueulemer’s hands away.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” the man grunts. “You’ll feel much better this way.”

“Why do you care?”

Gueulemer sighs and grabs Grantaire’s wrists with one hand. The young man doesn’t have the strength to struggle. 

“It’s going to hurt but I have to stop the bleeding” Gueulemer announces, then presses on the cut. Pain shots through Grantaire and he makes a sound somewhere between a shout and a snarl.

After a while, Gueulemer takes off the compresses and hums approvingly. He wets another compress and starts cleaning the wound with light touches. Grantaire hisses from time to time, but he has to admit that the thug is careful not to hurt him more.

“Why are you helping me?” he asks as Gueulemer throws away his third compress and takes the disinfectant. “You only see me as… as a piece of meat.”

Gueulemer pours disinfectant on a new compress.

“This isn’t going to be pleasant,” he warns. It proves to be an understatement when he applies it to the wound. “For the record and despite the way I acted with you,” Gueulemer adds once he is done, “I don’t consider you a piece of meat.”

“Clearly” Grantaire mutters.

“Take this off” Gueulemer says, tugging on the hem Grantaire’s t-shirt. “Take it off, it’s soaked.”

Grantaire hesitates and then complies when Gueulemer sends him an exasperated look. The T-shirt ends up stuck around his shackled hands and Gueulemer rips it off with a knife. Grantaire shivers at the sight and quickly pulls his hands back against him. Gueulemer leaves once again, to bring him a blanket this time. It is rugged and dirty, but at least he can warm up.

“You should stop resisting” Gueulemer says. “Your Apollo won’t make it out alive and you’ll be stuck with us, so it would be wiser to start cooperating.”

“And what does ‘cooperating’ imply?”

“I told you. Stop resisting, stop fighting. Make your life easier and don’t disobey Parnasse.”

Grantaire tightens the blanket around his shoulders. “I’d rather die.”

“Be assured that you won’t, unlike Enjolras and his merry men. Pity to think that if he weren’t so stubborn, he would live.”

“What? What do you mean he would live?”

“That this is much bigger than you, me, Parnasse or you beloved leader.”

“What do you mean?”

Gueulemer stands up and this time, Grantaire knows he is going to be left alone with his thoughts. He scrambles on his knees.

“What do you mean?” he repeats desperately.

“Try to sleep, we’re going to call your Apollo soon enough. If you need to piss, use the basin. Maybe I’ll be able to get you some food later.”

“Don’t leave! Tell me what you meant!”

Gueulemer ignores his pleas and Grantaire is alone again, unable to sleep, thoughts reeling in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is an earlier update than usual, since I'm going on holidays tomorrow. My next update might be a bit late because of that, but hopefully some relaxing time will bring back a little cuteness ;)


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras gets one last warning from Montparnasse.

Combeferre and Eponine have been gone for an hour now and against all odds, Enjolras has no worry concerning the outcome of their meeting with Marius. Marius had sounded more than ready to help when Enjolras had explained the situation. The hard part would be to convince the whole Pontmercy family to join them, but Enjolras trusts Combeferre to be persuasive. He is an excellent speaker, always finding the perfect balance between reason and feelings in his argumentation. Yes, Combeferre could come back with an army if needed. This combined with Eponine’s talent to motivate someone, either with a decisive remark or a dark look, makes Enjolras want to feel optimistic. As much as he can.

Meanwhile, inspecting Bahorel’s grenades with Courfeyrac helps distracting him. He stops hearing Grantaire’s screams and imagines his opponents’ instead. It is much better.

“You know what?” Courfeyrac says, holding a grenade at eye’s level and examining it. “Bahorel is going to be super pissed if we use his babies without him.”

“I’m still not sure to use them or not” Enjolras replies. “We have no idea where they keep R, or where we’re going to break in. It might be too dangerous.”

“You can at least throw one in the hallway,” Jehan counters. “It’s a great way to announce yourself and you can be sure that they don’t keep R behind the front door.”

Courfeyrac puts his grenade down, staring at Jehan as if he saw him for the first time. “You know how to make an entrance. I love that,” he states.

“Except we have no clue about how to make our entrance.” Enjolras mutters.

“Yes we do!” Feuilly exclaims, walking into the room. “Bossuet has the plans you required.”

“Perfect. Jehan, do we still have a lot to do here?”

“No, it should be fine.”

“Good, then we’ll all get a look at these plans.”

 

Grantaire jolts awake when he hears the wooden floor creaking under someone’s weight. He dozed off from time to time all night long until morning, exhausted by the strain of pain and emotions.  
It is Gueulemer again, with a glass of water and some bread. He sits cross-legged in front of Grantaire and offers the food to him. Grantaire hesitates, glancing between the offering and his captor’s face.

“What is the price for that?” he asks.

“Not everything has a price,” Gueulemer answers. “Come on, take it.”

“With people like you, everything has a price.” Yet Grantaire takes the glass. He is so thirsty that he swallows it all within seconds, wincing when his cheek hurts each time he gulps. Then he takes the piece of bread and realizes after a bite that there is some cheese in it.

“Thank you” Grantaire says. It annoys him to thank a man who participated in his abduction, but Gueulemer isn’t forced to help him. The man seems to be surprised too but he smiles and motions for Grantaire to keep eating.

“Are you doing this because you think I’ll like you more than the others? In case I… get stuck with you?” Grantaire asks once he is done eating – which takes a long time. He hates to consider this possibility. He hates having to consider this as a possibility, because it would mean Enjolras’ death and that is the last thing Grantaire wants to think about.

“No. Don’t mistake me, I would also do it if I believed you would see me under a different light. But you won’t. You will never love me or any of us, because you love him.” Gueulemer speaks without mockery or sarcasm. “You love him and we’re going to kill him, an act you will never forgive.”

“If he doesn’t kill you first” Grantaire retorts. Gueulemer remains silent and Grantaire understands that this conversation is over. “Why did Montparnasse do this to me?” he asks, indicating his old scar. “I still don’t remember.”

“You were at the wrong place, at the wrong time, that’s all. You were drunk, stumbling in an alley when you crossed our way. Montparnasse knew you to be a whore, so he asked for your services. You refused and things escalated. Parnasse doesn’t like to be denied what he requests.”

Grantaire didn’t expect Gueulemer to look embarrassed. There’s something else that he still hasn’t understood. “But did he follow me during all the years after that? Is that why I’m here now?”

Gueulemer chuckles. “No, even Parnasse isn’t creepy enough for that. We recognized you at the café and told him that you were with the ABC now. He saw an opportunity to make you pay and to screw Enjolras. That’s fate I guess.”

Grantaire is about to start a tirade about how he doesn’t believe in fate when the door bursts open. From what he can see – his left eye is completely shut now – it’s Claquesous.

“Gueulemer, my friend! Already trying out the merchandise?”

“He’s in no state for that. What do you want?”

“Him. Montparnasse is going to call Enjolras. He wants to be sure that Apollo knows what’s at stake.”

Grantaire spits at Claquesous’ feet. “You want to know what’s at stake, dumbass?” he snickers. “Your head.”

Claquesous presses his lips into a thin line.

“I’m going to have so much fun with you, you have no idea,” the thug threatens. “Untie him and bring him to Parnasse” he orders Gueulemer.

 

They take him back in the room with the computer. Montparnasse is already there, bent over the computer screen and Claquesous joins him. Grantaire is tied on the chair again, only it isn’t the same chair as before. This one has armrests, on which Gueulemer ties Grantaire’s arms.

Grantaire watches him with his valid eye, silently asking for an explanation. The fact that Gueulemer still won’t look at him makes him feel cold.

“Please” he whispers as low as he can.

“Shut up” Gueulemer replies between gritted teeth.

“What’s going on here?” Claquesous asks, turning away from the computer.

Gueulemer tugs one last time on the rope binding Grantaire’s wrist.

“Nothing” he answers. “Little shit can’t keep his mouth shut.”

Claquesous approaches and stops in front of the chair. Gueulemer steps back, retreating against the wall. Grantaire feels so exposed. He is hurt, half naked since they tore the blanket away from him, and Claquesous stands looming over him like a bird of prey.

“I have ways to make him close his mouth,” Claquesous says.

He grabs Grantaire’s jaw, the stir on his skin sending a shot of pain where he was cut. Grantaire whimpers and a tear comes down his eye. He desperately wants Enjolras here. Enjolras and all the others. He tries to remember how safe he felt between Bahorel’s arms, the laughs he shared with Courf. The warmth Enjolras’ fingers left on his skin and in his heart, sometimes. He can’t. He can’t remember what it’s like to feel safe, to laugh or to be loved. If he ever was, but he likes to fool himself in thinking that perhaps Enjolras could love him.

He must have drifted away, because next thing he knows is that Claquesous’ lips are on his, rough and invading. Painful also, and Grantaire remembers that he has a split lip. He stiffens, wants to tear his head away, but a strong hand at the back of his neck holds him in place. Then Claquesous mouths at his jaw, trails up his cheekbone. And back down, pausing a moment to inhale the scent of his neck.  
If it were Enjolras, it would be intimate and wonderful and comforting. But it’s Claquesous and Grantaire feels like throwing up. He’s also angry – against himself for not fighting more and for hoping that maybe Gueulemer would stand for him, but most of all against these men who think he’s just a piece of trash they can use.

Claquesous is raising his head, nose rubbing against Grantaire’s chin, then his mouth. Grantaire seizes the opportunity and parts his lips, teeth digging in the bridge of Claquesous’ nose. He tightens his jaws as much as possible and he feels blood on his tongue. For once it’s not his and this thought alone brings a surge of pride. Claquesous howls and only manages to free himself when he reaches for Grantaire’s throat, squeezing until the young man has to let go.

“Fuck!” Claquesous shouts, probing the skin.

Grantaire can see the imprint of his teeth and he smiles. It is a small revenge, but a revenge nonetheless. He even keeps smiling when Montparnasse turns his attention to them, obviously annoyed by all the fuss. He doesn’t expect the thug to burst into laughter when he sees his man’s face, bloody teeth marks on each side of his nose.

“That’s a good look on you, ‘Sous! I guess blow jobs are out of the question for now. Okay boys, be serious. We have a leader to call.”

He clicks on a button and Grantaire sees a video screen appear three seconds later. Enjolras is there, beautiful as ever. Even worry doesn’t alter the elegance of his features. Grantaire doesn’t see much, but Enjolras seems to have dark circles under his eyes.

“Enjy!” Montparnasse exclaims. “You look terrible. A little sleep wouldn’t hurt, if you ask me.”

“Please, don’t play games. Go straight to the point.” He does sound tired.

“Don’t worry, I will. Though it might have been nice of you to give R some respite.”

Grantaire’s heartbeat quickens. He doesn’t want it to start all over again, the first time was humiliating enough. He had tried not to scream or cry – Enjolras wouldn’t have – but he had failed pathetically. Maybe that’s why Enjolras doesn’t look at him, maybe he’s been too disgusted by it. No. Grantaire tries to listen to the reasonable part of him, the part telling him that it must be easier for Enjolras to avoid watching his face. What if Montparnasse was right? What if Enjolras only reacted because of the provocation? No. He has said that he cares, that Grantaire is important.

Montparnasse gestures for Claquesous to come closer. 

“Listen to me Enjy. This is our last call and I hate repeating myself. I’m sure your traced the call from R’s phone so you know where we are, right?”

Enjolras nods.

“Good. Come tomorrow at dawn. We’ll have the meeting you denied me for so long. If you try anything during the night, R dies. Also, I believe you understood we’re not joking, but a little reminder never hurts. Claquesous, have fun.”

This time Enjolras’ eyes flick to Grantaire. However, where Grantaire thought he would see pity, there is only sadness. Sadness but no resignation. Grantaire smiles at him, a tight little smile that probably looks more like a grimace on his battered face. Enjolras smiles back and it’s enough for Grantaire. They can do whatever they want, he’ll hold onto this.

Claquesous grabs Grantaire’s right thumb between his rough fingers. Grantaire takes a deep breath and turns his head away from Enjolras.

 

“Enjolras, calm down!” Jehan exclaims.

Enjolras lets out a frustrated scream but forces himself to regain control. Unfortunately, that’s too late for he laptop he sent flying on the floor as soon as Montparnasse ended the call.

“They broke his fingers! They’re going to hurt him again and again for a whole day!” Enjolras shouts.

They all saw Claquesous break each finger of Grantaire’s right hand and they all heard the agony in Grantaire’s screams.

Joly fidgets in his seat. “I hate to put it like this” he says, voice hesitant, “and I’m not minimizing what R is going through. But on a medical level, it’s not a lethal wound. The pain is excruciating but it doesn’t endanger him more.”

“Yes but…” Enjolras sighs, and his arms fall down in defeat. “He paints. He loves painting and they broke his fingers. That’s one the worst things they can do to him.”

“I’ll do my best to heal him” Joly replies, “and you know my best means a lot. He will paint again.” He says it without doubt, but most of all, like he doesn’t doubt at all that they will get R back. Enjolras would love to have such faith.

“Let’s go back to studying the plans. We can’t do anything else until Ferre and Ponine return,” he says, glad that his tone doesn’t betray the fear growing inside of him.

They had started to investigate the neighbourhood of Montparnasse’s house when they had received the call. Going back to task is as hard as expected.

“No hidden tunnels I can see” Courfeyrac mutters, tapping on the wooden table with a pen.

Feuilly rolls out a large sheet of paper on the one Courfeyrac was studying.

“No” he confirms, and grins. “But an amazing layout for moving from one roof to another.”

He takes his laptop and puts it so that all of them can see the screen.

“I found some pictures of that area” Feuilly adds. “Old Parisian roofs all linked to each other. It’s not the most discreet way to go, but it’s the best we have.”

Courfeyrac leans closer to the screen and groans. “That bastard lives in a nice neighbourhood. Do you still feel like throwing grenades there?” he asks Enjolras.

“They have R. I don’t care about architecture, Courf. They could be at the Élysée Palace and I would still throw grenades,” the leader answers, harsher than he intended to.

“I know. Of course you don’t care about the buildings. No, I mean, I’m afraid we’re going to draw too much attention on us.”

“I’m not one for subtlety” Bahorel says, “but he might have a point.”

“Nah” Jehan objects, “no one will. Even if they see us, everyone knows it’s better to look the other way.”

“I must confess that I’m not so fond of heights,” Courfeyrac admits. He sends an apologetic look to Enjolras. “I know you need everyone but I don’t want to mess up.”

“No worries. We won’t all go there. I’m not sending Bossuet on a roof, and I also need some of you with me. Jehan and Eponine are the quietest, they will go for sure.”

“Someone’s talking about me?”

Eponine and Combeferre stride in. They look tense and when Eponine flops down on her chair, Joly immediately starts massaging her shoulders. Combeferre takes off his glasses and rubs the bridge of his nose.

“It’s okay” he announces, putting his glasses back. “The Pontmercy will help us.”

The relief is palpable in the room.

“Convincing them wasn’t easy” Eponine says “but they will send their men with us. They’re waiting for your orders, Enjolras.”

“Perfect. I have a plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things got worse for R, but the rescue mission is coming, promise!


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras launches the rescue mission, but will they find R in time?

Grantaire is shackled in his room again. This time he doesn’t move from the place where they dropped him – he only has the strength to lie on his side, cradling his injured hand against him. Tomorrow, he will be reunited with Enjolras, or… well, he doesn’t want to think about anything else.

Gueulemer comes in the evening. Grantaire doesn’t move an inch when the thug puts water and a sandwich in front of him.

“Go away.”

“Starving yourself won’t make you feel better.”

“Killing Claquesous will make me feel better.”

“Sure. How are you going to proceed with only one hand and one eye?”

Grantaire lifts his head off the floor, hissing when the movement causes his hand to hurt more.

“I didn’t need my hands when I shortened his nose. I don’t need my hands to kill him.” He pauses to bite back a whimper of pain. “It was a large nose anyway. He’s much better like this.”

He expects Gueulemer to mock him – not that he cares – but the man remains silent for a while.

“I wish we had met in another life,” Gueulemer eventually says.

He shuffles and forces Grantaire to sit up, and half drags him until Grantaire can rest his back against the wall. He picks up the blanket and covers Grantaire with it.

“Why didn’t they… why didn’t they do worse to me?” Grantaire asks.

“Isn’t that enough?”

“Don’t play dull. Why didn’t they force themselves on me?”

Grantaire doesn’t know why he asks. The threat has been pending since the moment he woke up chained in this room and it is always at the back of his mind. He can’t handle the uncertainty anymore.

“Parnasse forbid it for now. He doesn’t want you damaged.”

“Are you kidding? Good to know that a ravaged face and a useless hand aren’t considered as damage.”

“Don’t start analyzing Parnasse’s logics. You’ll lose sleep over it.” Gueulemer pats Grantaire’s knee and gets up. “Speaking of sleep, try to get some. Everything will be over tomorrow.”

It’s still dark, but dawn will be there within two hours. It’s time for Les Amis to make their move.

“Let’s resume one last time,” Enjolras says. “Jehan, Feuilly and Eponine will access the roof from that building, there.” He puts the pen he is holding on a point on the map. All the roofs are connected in this area, you won’t have any trouble going on Montparnasse’s building. You’ll take some of Marius’ men with you.”

“How much, precisely?” Eponine asks. “We have to remain quiet.”

“Ten. You will go in from this window.” This time he points a picture of the building. “I believe they won’t expect you, Montparnasse will be too busy with me. Kill whoever you see when you make your way downstairs, in the quietest way possible. Courf and Combeferre are coming with me, it’s too suspicious if I go alone. Montparnasse’s men will take our weapons so once inside, our fate depends on your success” Enjolras says, glancing at Jehan and Eponine.

“And our close-combat skills” Courfeyrac adds, without sounding convinced.

Bahorel fidgets in his wheelchair, glancing at his injured leg. “I wish I could come.” He looks at Enjolras like Laelaps would when he’s denied something.

“Me too” Combeferre replies, patting his shoulder. “But you’ll stay here with Joly and Bossuet. You’ll be protecting our home, just in case, and it’s as important as what we’ll be doing meanwhile.”

“It’s time for you to go” Enjolras declares, addressing Jehan, Eponine and Feuilly. “I already sent the plans and pictures to Marius. I trust you to explain the rest. Go on the roof when it’s still dark. I’ll text you when we leave the mansion and you’ll probably see our car once you’re on the building.”

They all say a word to each other, or give a pat on the shoulder, then Jehan, Eponine and Feuilly leave. They don’t spend too much time saying goodbye or good luck – it would only remind them how risky the situation is.

Enjolras turns back to his remaining men. He intends to go on with the plan but now all he can think about is how close they are to the end. How close he is to be reunited with R, or to lose him forever.

 

Grantaire jolts awake hen someone rips the blanket off him. He managed to get some sleep, a small reprieve from the constant pain he is in. Well, if it can be considered reprieve since he keeps having nightmares in which Enjolras dies again and again. 

“Get up!” Claquesous barks.

“What? Wh–”

Claquesous grips Grantaire’s upper arm and hoists him on his feet, making him howl in pain when he moves his broken hand. He unshackles him and drags him out of the room, down a staircase leading to what must be a basement. Grantaire stops dead in his track when Claquesous opens a door effectively leading to a basement.

“Move!”

Grantaire takes a step backwards. “Why? Enjolras is here, isn’t he?”

Claquesous grunts and hauls him in the narrow staircase.

“Yes, he’s on our doorstep if you want to know every detail, and I have to keep an eye on you until we’re done with him.”

He lights the room and pushes Grantaire in that new, damp space. The ground is dusty and something left dubious stains on it. 

“Oh, and for your information, I will also keep my hands on you so that I’m sure you don’t go anywhere.”

Claquesous locks the door without looking away from Grantaire and pushes him in the middle of the room. Grantaire tries to find something – anything – which he could use to defend himself, but there’s nothing there except old cardboards.

“You saw what happened last time you touched me” Grantaire warns. If Enjolras is here, he needs to play for time. “I won’t hesitate to do it again.”

His teeth left distinct marks on Claquesous’ nose and he feels quite proud of it.

“You won’t get that opportunity” Claquesous snarls. “And once we’ll have properly trained you, it will never cross your mind again.”

Claquesous stretches his arm to grab Grantaire, but he sidesteps and puts some distance between them. It is just sparring, Grantaire tells himself. All he has to do is escape Claquesous as long as he can, because once the thug gets his hands on him, it’s over.

“Don’t play that game,” Claquesous says, approaching with a feral smile.

Grantaire moves away and Caquesous’ smile widens. They go on like this for a while and Grantaire gets the nasty feeling that Claquesous lets him do this for his own pleasure, especially when he lunges and grabs him by the throat.

“I’ve caught you, R,” he whispers in his ear.

Claquesous forces Grantaire on the ground, pinning him there with a hand around his throat. Grantaire tries to pry his fingers open with his valid hand, all the while kicking out, sometimes hitting his target.

“Yeah, keep struggling. I like that.”

Claquesous gropes him, kneading his ass, then tweaking a nipple. Grantaire screams in fear and anger, his useless hand resting on the floor.

Claquesous unbuckles his own belt. “I hope Parnasse doesn’t kill your leader too soon, I want him to see you like this,” he says. “Now, since you’re going to be uncooperative, I have to tie you up. It will hurt but you brought it on yourself.”

He releases Grantaire’s throat and joins his wrists to bind them together. It hurts like hell. Grantaire almost regrets Gueulemer’s gentler touches. Claquesous is ready to buckle the belt when a gunshot rings upstairs. Both of them freeze. They hear another gunshot, followed by a scream. Then it is chaos – the gunshots mix with screams and it doesn’t stop.

Claquesous doesn’t move, his dilemma clear on his face: should he join the fight or stay here with the prisoner? Grantaire decides for him. He gathers all his strength and folds one leg, then kicks his knee as hard as he can in Claquesous’ ribcage. Claquesous gasps and falls to the side and drops the belt, which unwinds on Grantaire’s torso.

Grantaire sits up at the same time Claquesous kneels, clutching the spot Grantaire hit. It’s the perfect angle. Grantaire picks up the belt and swings it around. The metal buckle strikes Claquesous’ face with full force. He shouts in pain and Grantaire feels better already.

“It hurts, uh?”

Grantaire gets up, belt still in hand. Claquesous holds a hand against his cheek but Grantaire can see a trail of blood under his palm. Claquesous reaches inside his jacket and takes a knife out. Grantaire laughs.

“I grew up in a damn circus, asshole. Your knife doesn’t scare me.”

With that, he swings the belt again, hitting Claquesous’ wrist. The knife clatters on the floor and Grantaire lunges to catch it. Claquesous is on him the moment Grantaire grips the knife. Grantaire falls backwards under Claquesous’ weight. After that everything is blurry. They fight for the knife – Grantaire trying to keep his injured hand out of the way and to avoid stabbing himself. At one point, Claquesous hits his face and the cut reopens, warm blood trickling down in his hair. But he doesn’t drop the knife. He doesn’t stop fighting, even though every movement gets harder and harder. He bucks his hips and tries to throw off Claquesous, using his legs to get some leverage. But Claquesous is pinning his wrist with one hand and trying to get the blade with the other, then he reaches out for Grantaire’s broken fingers and squeezes them. The pain is too much and Grantaire drops the knife with a cry. It’s over. Claquesous is going to take the knife and finish him right there. However, before the thug has time to grab it, something explodes above them, shaking the ceiling. Some dust falls on them. Claquesous halts his movement and Grantaire doesn’t think – no time for that – he retrieves the knife, stretches his arm and in a semi-circular movement, he pushes it in Claquesous’ throat.

The thug makes a gargling sound, surprise written all over his face. His shaking hands go to his throat, maybe to pull out the knife. Grantaire scrambles away. He is safe now, at least from Claquesous. The man is going to die, trickles of blood coming from his mouth and throat. He falls on his side, staring at Grantaire, his breath ragged. It won’t take much longer.

Grantaire stumbles on his feet and climbs the stairs. He doesn’t hear any noise – whatever the outcome, the fight is over. He hits the door repeatedly with his hand.

“Hey! Open the door! I’m in here!”

No one answers him. He calls again and hears rushed footsteps coming in his direction.

“I’m here!”

“R?”

The voice is slightly muffled but Grantaire would recognize it anytime.

“Jehan!”

“Step back, don’t stay behind the door.”

Grantaire obeys. 

“It’s okay!” he shouts.

He hears a gunshot –aimed at the lock– and the door flies open. Jehan is standing in the doorway, dishevelled, with sweaty strands of hair plastered on his face. His shirt is bloody, but he is alive. Grantaire smiles as much as his pained face allows him to and rushes to Jehan, swinging an arm around his shoulders. Jehan’s hands shot up and he clutches Grantaire’s back.

“We were so worried, R” he whispers. “We thought… we didn’t know. We didn’t know if we would ever see you again.”

Grantaire tries to speak but the words don’t come out. It’s over. He is safe, with Les Amis. Unless…

“Where are the others?” he manages to ask. “Are they okay? Enjolras?” He draws back to see Jehan’s face, his heart beating faster. “What about Enjolras?”

“He’s fine. We all are. Come, they are with Montparnasse.”

Jehan snakes his arm around Grantaire’s back, supporting him along the way. Grantaire is glad that he doesn’t have to ask and loves Jehan even more for it.

“Thank you” he whispers.

 

Enjolras looms over Montparnasse, still wondering what he is going to do with him. Nothing would be enough to satisfy him anyway.

The fight has been harsh, but they made it. Everything went as planned: Montparnasses’s men disarmed Enjolras, Combeferre and Courfeyrac when they arrived, unaware that the rest of Les Amis was already getting inside the house. They led them to Montparnasse’s office – more like a huge salon – and Enjolras didn’t move from that room during the fight. Montparnasse almost got him when Eponine and some of Marius’ men burst into the room. Almost. Les Amis gained the upper hand and Montparnasse surrendered, dropping his gun.

Enjolras doesn’t feel an ounce of guilt for beating him up a bit after that. 

“What are you going to do now, Enjy?” Montparnasse taunts, flashing him a bloody smile.

Enjolras fists both hands in Montparnasse’s shirt.

“I haven’t decided. Yet.”

“Enjolras!” Combeferre calls behind him.

The leader turns his head. Jehan is there, Grantaire slumped on his shoulder.

“Grantaire.” Enjolras releases Montparnasse and crosses the short distance separating him from Grantaire. He stops in front of him and Grantaire pushes himself up – with a lot of help from Jehan – and puts his arms around Enjolras’ neck, too weak to tighten his embrace. Enjolras doesn’t know what to do. He can’t bury Grantaire’s face against his neck – he will only hurt him more. He can’t move too much, otherwise he will hurt Grantaire’s broken fingers. And his torso is littered with bruises. Whatever Enjolras does, he will only hurt Grantaire more.

Courfeyrac finally mouths “Hold him” and then Enjolras settles his hands around Grantaire’s back. A single sob racks Grantaire’s body as soon as Enjolras’ palms touch his skin.

“At least I lived long enough to see the lovebirds reunited” Montparnasse sneers.

“Shut up!” Combeferre snaps.

Enjolras and Grantaire untangle. Enjolras brushes his fingers through his black curls and presses a light kiss on Grantaire’s forehead.

“We’re almost done,” he says for Grantaire’s ears alone.

As soon as the leader steps away from Grantaire, Courfeyrac and Eponine lead him to a chair, urging him to sit down. They remain by his side, Courfeyrac still carrying a rifle. Reassured even though he knows nothing can happen to Grantaire now, Enjolras focuses once again on Montparnasse, who’s still slumped over his desk.

“So you made it out of the basement,” Montparnasse says to Grantaire, ignoring Enjolras’ ominous stare.

“Yeah” Grantaire replies. He raises his chin, in that defiant way Enjolras has come to love so much. “Claquesous won’t.”

Montparnasse can’t hide the shadow which crosses his face. However, his charming smile is back within seconds.

“Well” he says. “I guess I’ll meet him soon enough.”

“You guess right” Enjolras replies, drawing out his gun. “I had much better things planned for you, but we’re running out of time.”

He puts the barrel of his gun against Montparnasse’s chest. The thug grabs Enjolras’ jacket and brings him close enough to whisper in his ear.

“A word before we say our goodbyes, dear Apollo. He’ll never forget me, and he’ll never forget that all this happened because of you.”

Enjolras tries to draw back but Montparnasse’s fingers tighten on his jacket.

“And you” he goes on, “you’ll remember this each time you look at his face. I left – I left my mark on him. He’ll be your living failure. Each time you’ll see his scars, you’ll remember how you failed to protect him. How can you protect a city if you can’t protect one man, Enjolras?”

Enjolras glances back at Grantaire. He is too far to hear them.

“You’re right” Enjolras replies. “We’ll never forget. But every time I’ll look at him, I’ll see how brave and strong he is. I’ll remember my fear of losing him forever, but also the moment I realized I can’t live without him. I’ll never forgive myself for what happened, that’s true. But you want to know what we’ll remember? That you never managed to break Grantaire and that in the end, you paid for what you did.”

Montparnasse opens his mouth but he never says another word. Enjolras pulls the trigger and the bullet goes right through his heart. His eyes widen and he falls back on his desk when Enjolras steps back. There’s blood splattered all over the leader’s clothes, and some on his face.

“We’re leaving,” he announces once he’s sure Montparnasse is dead. “Combeferre, gather Marius’ men.”

“Marius’ men?” Grantaire asks with a frown.

“Long story” Eponine answers. She helps him getting on his feet and Enjolras darts to his side to support him while they get out.

When they reach the hallway, Grantaire stops, eyes fixed on a body lying in a pool of blood. Enjolras follows his gaze and recognizes Gueulemer.

“Is he dead?” Grantaire asks. His face betrays no emotion.

“Yes” Enjolras replies. “They all are. Why? Did he hurt you?”

Enjolras regrets his choice of words as soon as they leave his mouth, but Grantaire doesn’t pay attention to it.

“No it’s just… Perhaps he wasn’t as bad as the others. Doesn’t matter. Let’s go home” Grantaire adds, looking up at Enjolras. God, how Enjolras missed these big eyes.

He bends and puts an arm under Grantaire’s knees, the other safely curved around his chest. He lifts him up and cradles him in his arms – R can barely walk anymore.

“Yes” Enjolras answers, pressing a kiss in Grantaire’s curls. “Let’s go home.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some comfort at last.

Enjolras takes Grantaire to Joly as soon as they set foot in the mansion. All of the Amis have some minor wounds – a miracle that they aren’t worse – but Combeferre can take care of them.

Enjolras carries Grantaire from the car to the infirmary. Joly’s eyes widen when he takes in Grantaire’s wounds but he manages to stifle his gasp. Enjolras lays Grantaire down on a bed and Joly bends over him, assessing each wound, sometimes making a displeased sound. 

“Okay. You’ll need stitches, and I’m going to get an X-ray done for your hand.”

“I can have an X-ray here?” Grantaire asks.

“Yes” Joly answers with a little smile. “I’ll also put you on a drip to keep you hydrated. But most of all, you need rest.”

Grantaire grabs Joly’s sleeve. “Please don’t send Enjolras away.”

Joly covers Grantaire’s hand with his own. “Don’t worry, I won’t.”

Grantaire nods and eases his head on his pillow, closing his eyes, so he doesn’t see Joly sending Enjolras a warning look which says “don’t mess with my patient or I throw you out”.  
Enjolras sits next to the bed, running his fingers through Grantaire’s curls while Joly prepares his tools.

“He’s going to take good care of you,” Enjolras whispers. “I won’t leave your side for a second.”

 

It’s true, he doesn’t. Even when Grantaire falls asleep after Joly stitches his cut and puts a splint on his fingers. 

“I’m going to see if Combeferre needs some help” Joly tells him. “Call me if R needs something. Or, you for that matter.” Joly squeezes Enjolras’ shoulder and leaves.

Enjolras keeps his eyes trained on Grantaire for a long time, even though the sight makes his heart clench. R is barely recognizable with all his bruises. Enjolras keeps stroking the back of Grantaire’s hand with his nails until Bahorel comes in, still in his wheelchair. They don’t say anything for a long time, both of them watching the steady rise and fall of Grantaire’s chest.

“You’ve no idea how happy I am you guys made it out alive,” Bahorel says at last.

“Yes. Yes, but… I’m worried about R. Gods knows what happened to him in there. And his hand…”

They look down at Grantaire’s bandaged fingers. Enjolras wraps his hand around Grantaire’s unharmed one.

“Joly said that he will need some re-education but he should retrieve most of his capacities,” Bahorel supplies.

“I know!” Enjolras bursts out. He bites his lower lip and forces himself to speak at a voice level Joly would approve of. “The point is… he’s a painter. ‘Most of his capacities’ isn’t enough. His art is so important for him – God, have you seen how he paints, ‘Rel? He has to recover – he has to –”

“M’fine.”

Grantaire’s hand shifts a bit in Enjolras’ hold. He cracks one eye open –the only one he can – and glances to Enjolras and Bahorel, then gives them a little smile.

“I’m sorry I woke you up, R.”

“It’s okay. I’m fine” Grantaire repeats, closing his eye.

“You’re rambling” Bahorel teases, giving his knee a little squeeze. “Joly went a bit hard on your pills.”

“No I mean, I’m okay” Grantaire insists. He seems ready to fall asleep at any moment. “I’m left-handed.”

Enjolars doesn’t know what he’s talking about for a second, assuming – as Bahorel suggested – that Joly was generous with the painkillers. Since none of them answers, Grantaire lifts his head from his pillow and eyes them up and down.

“I’m left-handed. They hurt the other hand so I’m fine. I can paint as much as I want.”

It doesn’t change what Grantaire has been through, but it’s still better. Enjolras is so happy that he wants to take Grantaire’s face between his hands and kiss him, but there isn’t a spot on Grantaire’s face that wouldn’t hurt. He settles for brushing his curls and Grantaire hums approvingly.

“We missed you, R” Bahorel says. “I’m so sorry for not defending you better.”

“Shh, shut up. These assholes were the only ones to blame, and they’re dead. After they took me, I thought they had killed you. I thought I wouldn’t see any of you again – I’ve never been so scared.”

Grantaire swallows, still shaken. He takes a deep breath and turns his hand still in Enjolras’ to thread their fingers together.

“You should sleep, E” he says. “I’ve kept you awake long enough.”

Enjolras shakes his head and Bahorel sees where this is going. He pats Grantaire’s knee one last time and rolls away from the bed.

“I’m going to check on the others, since I’m Joly’s personal assistant now. We’ll visit you later, R.”

“I want to know how you managed to put him in a wheelchair” Grantaire chuckles weakly once Bahorel has left.

“That was the hardest part of the whole plan” Enjolras jokes.

“I don’t doubt it. You should go to sleep, really.”

“As I said, I’m not leaving your side. Not negotiable.”

“Then can I negotiate your presence in my bed? We can both fit in, but it’s still narrow enough so that we’ll have to squeeze. That’s the best part of it.”

It is obvious Grantaire would wink if he could, and his face looks happier already. There is nothing Enjolras would like more but…

“It might be uncomfortable for you, R. I don’t want to make you suffer more.”

Grantaire lets go of Enjolras’ hand and pats the mattress.

“Don’t be stupid, Apollo.”

Enjolras can’t resist anymore. He kicks off his shoes, leaves his jacket on the chair, and climbs on the bed. They shift until Enjolras curls around Grantaire’s back, a protective arm across his stomach. It is warm and safe. They don’t need anything else right now.

“When will you understand that I’ll never suffer when I’m in your arms?” Grantaire whispers.

Enjolras wants to reply that a hundred things went wrong because Grantaire had been in his arms, but it would only ruin their moment. Grantaire doesn’t need that. Moreover, he will never get tired of having R in his arms. He could get drunk on that feeling, if such a thing were possible. That sounds like the right thing to say, so he does, and presses a light kiss in Grantaire’s neck afterwards. Grantaire doesn’t reply but he snuggles up a little more between Enjolras’ arms, and the leader suspects there’s a grin on his face while he does it.

They have so much things to talk about, like what happened exactly to Grantaire. Later, Enjolras tells himself. For now, he closes his eyes, bathing in the warmth against his body. Everything feels right.

 

Enjolras wakes up to R watching him as if he were admiring a god. He didn’t even feel him shift in arms. Maybe he was tired after all.

“You’re beautiful when you sleep” Grantaire says.

“And you’re beautiful all the time” Enjolras replies, bringing him closer.

Grantaire’s expression darkens. “Yeah well, I’m not so sure about that part. Now I look like I could play a monster in some cheap horror movie.”

“Stop. If only you could see yourself as I see you. As we all see you.”

“I’m afraid we’ll never agree on that point” Grantaire replies, yet his gaze has regained some of its usual glint.

“Then I hope you won’t mind my attempts to change your mind.”

“You can always try.”

Enjolras already has a whole argument ready, however Grantaire kisses him the moment he opens his mouth. It’s slow and tender, and hesitant too, but that’s mostly because Enjolras can feel Grantaire’s split lip.

“It’s nothing, Enjolras,” Grantaire says, giving him one last kiss.

“Am I so easy to read?”

“Like an open book, sometimes.”

 

The other Amis come to visit R a while later. It is the first time he can take a proper look at them. They are still exhausted from the recent events, but they look happy. It has been a big day after all.

Courfeyrac is the first one to come in. He hesitates when he spots Enjolras still lying on the bed.

“Oh… Should I come back later?”

“No way!” Grantaire exclaims. “Bring your ass over here.”

Courfeyrac’s whole face lights up. “Great, because I’m not alone. Jehan, let’s bring in our guest star.”

Courfeyrac fully opens the door and a white ball rushes in.

“Hey Laelaps!”

Grantaire tries to sit up, pushing on his elbows. He is still tangled with Enjolras so it doesn’t get him anywhere. The leader gets off the bed and hoists Grantaire on his pillow. He bends down and takes Laelaps in his arms, ready to put him on the bed.

“No, no dog on the bed, E.”

“R, you’re such a killjoy sometimes,” Courfeyrac says. “Poor puppy missed you, you know.”

Grantaire purses his lips for a second and extends his arms.

“Okay, fine. But that’s one time. Come here buddy!”

The puppy is overjoyed to be in his arms again and Grantaire can’t help laughing. It is a good thing Laelaps isn’t too big yet, he would be crushing him. Grantaire’s heart flutters even more when he catches Enjolras watching them fondly.  
When Laelaps agrees to calm down, Jehan and Courf settle with Enjolras around Grantaire’s bed. It doesn’t take long before Enjolras’ fingers brush against his hand – a gesture Grantaire now identifies as Enjolras’ way to ask for his permission. As if he had to. In fact, he almost hasn’t let go of Grantaire since they came back, always finding a way to maintain a physical contact. Grantaire wonders if Enjolras knows how much it helps him staying calm. Even though he is out of this hell, every little sound makes Grantaire jumpy.

He takes Enjolras’ hand and they all pretend it goes unnoticed, but the corners of Jehan’s mouth curl upward, which he hides by laughing at one of Courfeyrac’s jokes.  
Step by step, Grantaire learns how they found him and got rid of Montparnasse’s entire gang. Well, the core members at least. As Enjolras said, the petty thieves and spies vaguely related to Montparnasse are no threat. 

They tell him how Eponine, Jehan and Feuilly went in by the roof, and now Grantaire understands why Marius’ men accompanied them. They managed to kill more men than they were hoping for before someone noticed their presence.

“Silencers do wonders,” Courfeyrac explains.

When they reach Combeferre, Courfeyrac and Enjolras’ part in the plan, Grantaire is overwhelmed by a rush of fear.

“You went in unarmed?” he exclaims. “Are you all crazy?”

“Grantaire, they tortured you beneath our very eyes. The plan was risky, but it worked out fine. Leaving you with them any longer was off the agenda.”

“I don’t care, Courf! You could have died, you could be lying in a pool of blood right now!”

He sees Gueulemer’s body on the floor again. It could have been any of them.

“But we’re fine” Jehan says in a gentle tone. “Whatever could have gone wrong, it did not. When we went in Montparnasse’s office, we outnumbered them. Montparnasse didn’t even have his gun drawn at that point.”

“I don’t think they wanted to kill us” Enjolras supplies. He means it as a reassurance, but it would make Grantaire laugh if he were not in such a state.

“Then you’re sorely mistaken, they very much wanted to kill you.” Something Gueulemer told him comes back to Grantaire’s mind. He had forgotten about it with all that had happenend.  
He is about to tell them when Joly bursts in. The doctor spots Laelaps on Grantaire’s lap right away. He lets out a triumphant cry.

“Ah! I couldn’t find him anywhere. I knew he was here. Seriously Courf? A dog in my patient’s bed?”

Jehan giggles, ruffling Laelaps’ fur. The puppy doesn’t seem all that impressed by Joly’s appearance.

“I’m always suspect number one!” Courfeyrac protests. “Let me tell you my dear Joly, technically Enjolras is the one who put him in R’s bed.”

Enjolras gives Joly a sheepish smile.

“Anyway, R needs to rest now. So all of you, out.”

Grantaire clutches Enjolras’ hand. “Can he stay? I promise he’ll be silent.”

Joly seems ready to disapprove, but that doesn’t last long.

“Fine, if you behave. Both of you.”

Jehan and Courfeyrac get up reluctantly, taking Laelaps with them. They all know that this point isn’t negotiable – even Enjolras wouldn’t manage to change Joly’s mind.

“We’ll be back as soon as our despotic friend allows it,” Courfeyrac says. “Laelaps will sleep with us tonight,” he adds winking at Jehan.

When the door closes behind them, Grantaire turns to Enjolras excitedly.

“Did he says ‘us’? When did Jehan and Courf became a ‘us’?”

“Well, I must have missed something.”

“I’ve always pictured them together,” Grantaire says with the serious look of an expert. “Character compatibility and all that stuff.”

He pulls Enjolras’ hand, dragging him back in bed and cuddling against his side.

“Thank you” he whispers.

Enjolras takes a moment to realize what Grantaire is talking about.

“What? For getting you out of there? You don’t have to thank me, R. That’s the last thing you have to do.” He remains silent for a moment, playing with the edge of the blanket, then adds “I love you, you know. I wanted to find the right moment to say it, so that it’s not attached to bad memories. But we came so close to losing you, I have to say it now. I love you so much. I understand if you don’t reciprocate or–”

Grantaire turns around just enough to plaster his palm on Enjolras’ mouth.

“Stop talking. How can you think I don’t reciprocate?”

Enjolras takes his hand away between delicate fingers.

“Because none of this would have happened if you hadn’t been with the Amis. Montparnasse wanted to hurt me, so he hurt you instead. You had nothing to do with this.”

“I don’t care.” Grantaire turns completely, now straddling Enjolras’ lap. How Joly would disapprove. “You’re not to blame. And if to stay with you I had to go through something like that again, I would.”

Grantaire runs his fingers along Enjolras’ face, then leans forward to kiss the tip of his nose. All these things Enjolras said, he had dreamed of them, but never thought they would become a reality.

“I was afraid of what you would think when… when Montparnasse said I had offered them my services. I was afraid you would decide I wasn’t worth it and that you should rather leave me with them.”

A flash of hurt crosses Enjolras’ face, then guilt. “Have I been so harsh that you would believe that about me? I’m sorry R, I… Whatever you did or said back then, it doesn’t matter.”

Grantaire still feels the urge to make everything clear. Enjolras deserves it. They both deserve it.

“I offered myself when they said that they would torture you. Make you suffer ten times more than I did. I couldn’t bear the thought.”

“Oh R…” Enjolras presses his lips into a thin line. It’s clear he wants to ask something, but doesn’t know if he can. “Did they hurt you in such a way? I mean… sexually. I understand if you don’t want to talk about it now.”

“No. I already said so to Joly.” Joly, always careful, had asked when Enjolras had had to go to the toilets. 

“Claquesous tried to but… I killed him before he could.”

Enjolras’ whole body tenses and a flame lights up in his eyes. “I should have spent more time on their execution,” he hisses.

“No. I’m glad I’m the one who did it. Even though a part of me will regret it forever. I killed someone.”

“Someone who didn’t deserve to live.”

“Yet it was still a person.”

“I know R. I don’t feel happy either when I kill but it was them or us. And between you and a hundred people, that would still be you.”

“That’s good to know.” A teasing grin splits Grantaire’s face. He comes closer to Enjolras, his lips ghosting over the leader’s. “What about a thousand?” he whispers.

“You. Always you.”

They kiss until their lungs ache from the lack of air. Grantaire is aware of how cliché it sounds, but he would like for this moment to last forever. When their hands start to wander dangerously low, Enjolras pulls away.

“According to Joly, you need rest.”

“For your interest, orgasms are a great way to alleviate physical pain. Don’t look at me like that, it’s true.”

“Okay, I believe you. I guess we can tell Joly that he can keep his painkillers – I’ll just blow you whenever you’re in pain.”

Grantaire slaps his shoulder, but he can’t keep the playfulness out of his voice. “Silly! Would you do it though?”

“Of course. If you’re comfortable with that.”

“Damn right I’m comfortable with that.”

For now, they settle back in bed, grinning against each other’s mouth and snuggling under their blankets until sleep takes over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm in the process of finding a new title for this fic (something less misleading) but since I can be highly unimaginative regarding titles, it may take some time ;)


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I would like to have a more solid summary, but well. Sex. Lovely sex?

The following day, Joly allows Grantaire to leave the infirmary after many pleas and on condition that Grantaire doesn’t put too much strain on his body.  
Grantaire goes back to his bedroom with relief. The infirmary is nice but it still looks too much like a hospital. It is the first time since he came back that Enjolras isn’t by his side, however all of the Amis take turn visiting him. Grantaire particularly enjoys Eponine’s visit, considering that she is the only one agreeing to offer him a cigarette.

“Enjolras and Joly tend to be over-protective,” she mutters.

“Tell me about it. And don’t forget Combeferre, he’s the worst.” Grantaire takes a long drag on his cigarette, closing his eyes for a moment. “I ache so much for a drink. It’s weird, you know. Back there I didn’t think about drinking once. I was too scared about everything. But now…”

Thankfully, Eponine doesn’t show any pity, only understanding.

“Now you could drink a whole bottle,” she says.

“Yes. I would do anything to forget. Yeah, forgetting all this for just an evening would be awesome.”

Eponine shuffles on the bed and sits in front of Grantaire, planting her hands on each of his knees.

“Look. You will forget for a night, great. But when you remember what you went through all over again, it’s going to be a lot worse. Trust me.”

“I know but… I killed someone. I still don’t understand how I managed to, but I did. Every time I close my eyes, I see Claquesous clutching at his throat with blood everywhere. Yet I also see him trying to… well, touching me everywhere and torturing me, and I feel right for doing what I did. Even though I know it’s wrong and I regret it every ten seconds or so.”

Eponine gets closer to Grantaire and passes an arm around his shoulders, hugging him tightly.

“R, you stabbed him in self-defence, while he was assaulting you. There were gunshots ringing in all that damn house and you were hurt, locked up alone with one of the guys who laughed torturing you. No one would blame you for reacting like you did. All of the Amis would have done the same.”

“I believe that. Hell, Enjolras would have held Claquesous down to give me a better access to his vital organs.”

“Yes, I can picture him doing that. But never forget that you are a victim in all this. Don’t go on a guilt trip.”

 

Once Grantaire is alone – and this isn’t going to last – he shuffles to the bathroom. He goes to the mirror, carefully keeping his eyes down. He stays in front of it for a long time, unable to move. When Grantaire looks up to discover his reflection, shock takes all the air out of his lungs. He tightens his good hand on the marble edge of the sink to avoid taking a step back. It is not him in that mirror – it can’t be. His black eye is still swollen and his face sports various shades of purple and yellow.

Yet that could be fine, because these bruises are going to fade. However, the new scar on Grantaire’s cheek is never going to disappear, no matter how well Joly stitched it. At least it is symmetrical – well, will be when his face isn’t so swollen anymore.

Grantaire traces the scar with the tip of one finger, then stares at it for a while. He would like to have the energy – or to be angry enough – to smash the mirror. Actually, he wishes he could have any reaction other than resignation and weariness. Grantaire keeps his hand on the mirror, head hung low, until a familiar warm hand covers his. Grantaire doesn’t need to look up to know that Enjolras is behind him.

“I know I’m not the one sporting that scar, but it doesn’t change anything on how we see you,” Enjolras says. “To me, you’re as beautiful as before.”

“You don’t have to lie for the sake of my ego,” Grantaire says bitterly. “I know what I look like.”

“Hey.” Enjolras takes Grantaire’s chin between his fingers and pushes his head up so that they are both staring at the mirror. Enjolras kisses Grantaire’s neck and rests his head on his shoulder, arms around Grantaire’s waist.

“You want to know what I told Montparnasse when I killed him? That the scar would remind me how I failed you but also the very moment I realized I can’t live without you. How strong and brave you are.”

Grantaire is still staring at the mirror, but now only at Enjolras.

“You believe you can’t live without me?” he asks, fighting to keep his voice steady.

“I’m sure I can’t live without you. That’s what I meant when I said that I love you.” 

Grantaire wants so badly to tell Enjolras that he isn’t as strong as he thinks, that right now he craves for a bottle of alcohol. He also wants to tell Enjolras that yes, he loves him too and more than anything, but no word gets out of his mouth. Instead, Grantaire decides that there is no need to talk for now, and turns around, cupping Enjolras’ face with one hand. He kisses him with a soft press of his lips. Enjolras kisses back with care, obviously more focused on not hurting Grantaire than forgetting himself in the kiss.

“Let’s move this to the bedroom,” Grantaire whispers.

“I’m not… Are you sure? I think it’s too soon…”

Grantaire puts his palm on Enjolras’ chest and pushes him back step by step, giving him what used to be a seductive smile. Grantaire doesn’t want to think of what it must look like now. Enjolras doesn’t look away in horror though, so maybe it’s not that bad. They proceed like this until they reach the bed. When Enjolras finally sits on the bed with Grantaire climbing on his lap, his mouth curls into a little smile and the worried lines of his forehead disappear. Grantaire wraps his arms around Enjolras’ neck, like he did when they reunited in Montparnasse’s house, but with more strength this time.  
When Enjolras opens his mouth – probably to protest, arguing about Grantaire’s health – Grantaire seizes the opportunity and attacks his lips with a vigour they never shared. It’s almost violent, lips biting down on flesh and nails scratching skin. It is mostly Grantaire’s doing – Enjolras meets him without any resistance but he doesn’t truly kiss back.

“Stop being so afraid of hurting me,” Grantaire mutters. “As you said, I’m strong.”

“You know I didn’t say it like that.”

“So, why are you holding back?”

“I believe angry sex isn’t what you need at the moment, that’s all.”

Grantaire bites down hard on Enjolras’ throat, and he feels the leader’s cock quiver between his tighs.

“Tell me what I need then,” Grantaire says against Enjolras’ heated skin.

Before he can process what is happening, Enjolras lays him down on the mattress in a swift movement. He lies next to Grantaire, propped up on one elbow to maintain eye contact.

“I think I should rather show you what you need,” Enjolras replies. “Because you don’t believe me when I say I love you. It’s not a reproach.” Enjolras strokes Grantaire’s cheek with back of his fingers, then rests his hand over Grantaire’s heart. “I think that you’re not used to being loved. That you believe you don’t deserve to be.”

Grantaire considers lying for a second. His heart rate increases under Enjolras’ palm, betraying him. Enjolras smiles sadly, as if these tiny heartbeats had just given him the answer he already knew.

“I’m going to prove you wrong,” the leader says. “If you won’t believe my words, maybe you will have faith in my actions.”

“I already have faith in you,” Grantaire interrupts, only to be cut off himself by Enjolras’ full lips pressing on his own, tender and intimate. Then Enjolras kisses his black eye and moves on to another bruise on his cheekbone, followed by a bruise on his neck. He moves to take Grantaire’s shirt off but stops when he slips his hands under the fabric, his fingers resting on Grantaire’s ribs.

“Is that okay?” Enjolras asks. “I mean, after Claquesous and… I don’t want to… I don’t know, I don’t want to scare you or remind you of what he tried to do.”

Grantaire nudges Enjolras’ calf with his heel. “You will never remind me of him. Go on with your demonstration, it was getting interesting.”

He helps Enjolras to remove his shirt and falls back on the mattress, wondering what Enjolras is going to do now. The blond resumes kissing each bruise marring Grantaire’s torso, slowly making his way up to Grantaire’s mouth again. A shiver goes through Grantaire’s body each time those lips touch his skin and soon his jeans start getting too tight.

“I don’t care how long it takes for you to believe me,” Enjolras says. “I love you. I should have realised that before Montparnasse took you away.”

“Tried to take me away,” Grantaire corrects. “No matter the doubts I had, you were always with me, even through the darkest moments.”

For a second, Enjolras looks like he is on the verge of crying, however a grin quickly stretches his lips. He brings Grantaire’s healing fingers to his mouth and kisses them through the bandages.

“My beautiful R. My lovely, beautiful R.”

The praise makes Grantaire want to hide his face in his pillow, but Enjolras has never seemed so sincere. All his desires of roughness leave Grantaire. He wants Enjolras’ love and tenderness, needs them like he needs to breathe.  
Grantaire grabs the front of Enjolras’ shirt and tugs the leader above him. Enjolras settles between his thighs, his weight pressing comfortably on Grantaire’s waist. Judging from Enjolras’ expression, he appreciates it too. He gives a slow roll of his hips and they moan in unison.

“I wish we had met before” Enjolras says. “And not in that alley with your blood on the ground.”

“I knew you were the one who took me to the hospital. I wasn’t crazy then, I did see an angel that night.”

Enjolras ducks his head to mouth at one of Grantaire’s nipples, and also – as Grantaire suspects – to hide the blushing of his cheeks. He is proven right when Enjolras stops his ministration. Grantaire traces his lower lip with his index.

“Make love to me?” Grantaire says, and he didn’t mean to sound so unsure.

“Yes. Yes, God, yes.”

Enjolras’ voice is barely above a whisper and Grantaire would have doubted he heard it if Enjolras’ lips had not been moving against his cheek.  
Enjolras discards their clothes in no time but even when he does that, he manages to be tender and Grantaire’s heart melts a little more. Enjolras takes his time caressing each part of Grantaire’s body, his hands sometimes ghosting around Grantaire’s entrance, then pressing against it without breaching. Not yet. Anyone could have thought that Enjolras is merely teasing, but Grantaire knows deep down that the leader wants to take his time, to make this special. They both want this moment to last as long as possible.  
At first, Grantaire tries to reciprocate Enjolras’ attention, caressing Enjolras’ sides before aiming for his navel. Enjolras grabs his wrist and pins it on the mattress above Grantaire’s head.

“This about you, not me. It’s time someone spends time pleasuring you and not the other way around.”

After that Grantaire doesn’t try to do anything, apart from giving quick playful kisses on Enjolras’ head or his shoulders whenever he can, giggling every time. His giggles turn into a short gasp when Enjolras presses the tip of his thumb in him. They stay like that for a while, Enjolras teasing him with his finger. It takes a long time before Enjolras adds another finger coated with saliva – not that Grantaire is one to complain. When Enjolras reaches the point at which he can add a third finger without hurting Grantaire, he goes down Grantaire’s chest until he is at crotch level. Grantaire’s cock throbs with anticipation. Enjolras presses his palm on Grantaire’s lower abdomen and slowly takes him in his mouth. Grantaire tries not to buck, but the sweet heat surrounding him is too much and his hips jerk forward.

“Sorry” he says quickly. It has been a long time since he received a blowjob. Some clients would do it once in a while but then Grantaire had always been careful to avoid any sudden movement. He had choked a client once and well, the guy hadn’t liked it so much.

But Enjolras isn’t just any guy. He hums around Grantaire’s cock and takes him deeper. And because he is Enjolras, the hand pressed on Grantaire’s belly isn’t meant to keep him still – thus contradicting Grantaire’s initial thought – but rather to help taking him apart. Enjolras drags his blunt nails on the sensitive skin and teases Grantaire’s belly button. A new rush of heat goes straight to Grantaire’s cock and a ragged moan escapes him. Enjolras twists the fingers inside him and the moan turns into a surprised yelp.

“Oh… Are you trying to kill me?” Grantaire pants.

Enjolras hums again, obviously very pleased with himself.

“Well, let me tell you,” Grantaire says between two shudders, “that you are way too cocky for you own good, Sir. Pun intended.”

Enjolras swirls his tongue around Grantaire’s shaft in retaliation and Grantaire bucks once again.

“Stop, I’m going to come,” he warns, tapping Enjolras shoulder. Enjolras releases him and shuffles upward. “I want to feel you inside me when I come, E. I want you in me.”

Enjolras groans, pressing his cock on Grantraire’s thigh.

“If you keep saying things like these Taire, we won’t get to that point.”

Grantaire smirks and gestures towards the nightstand.

“Lube and condoms are in there.”

He doesn’t even try to move to retrieve them, Enjolras wouldn’t let him. Once the leader has poured some lube over his fingers, he pushes them inside Grantaire again, making sure he is prepared enough. His fingers graze over Grantaire’s prostate and Enjolras has his smug smile again when Grantaire’s whole body is rocked by a spasm. At last, Enjolras takes pity on him and withdraws his fingers to put the condom on and grab Grantaire’s hips.  
Knowing what is to come almost pushes Grantaire over the edge. He grips Enjolras’ arm at the very moment his lover starts pushing into him and closes his eye. This way, he focuses more on Enjolras penetrating him and it feels like each tiny push increases tenfold.

A small gasp escapes Grantaire when Enjolras seats himself fully inside of him. Enjolras kisses his cheekbone and Grantaire remembers to open his eye.

“Are you okay?” Enjolras asks.

Grantaire nods several times, hoping it carries his enthusiasm. Enjolras starts moving and it is wonderful. He keeps a slow pace, sometimes giving a firmer push to brush against Grantaire’s prostate.

It is amazing. Grantaire has felt that kind of pleasure dozens of times and technically, it is not different from what he has experienced before. However, Enjolras makes the moment amazing. Grantaire feels connected to him and he wonders if maybe – maybe that’s because he knows deep down that Enjolras doesn’t lie when he says he loves Grantaire. Each movement seems to carry Enjolras’ love and that is why this moment is different.

Grantaire buries his fingers in Enjolras’ silky curls and unties the red ribbon holding back Enjolras’ hair. Golden strands of hair fall all at once on Enjolras’ shoulders.

“You’re glorious,” Grantaire murmurs.

“You’re my love.”

Grantaire entwines his hand in Enjolras’ curls and tugs gently to bring him closer. He nuzzles at Enjolras’ neck, memorizing his scent and the softness of his skin – just in case this is a dream. Enjolras takes Grantaire’s cock in his hand and starts stroking him and oh, he is so close now. They stay in that position until they both reach completion, and long after. Then Enjolras gets up to get rid of the condom and comes back to bed as fast as he can. He lies down on his back and pulls Grantaire half on top of him in a tight embrace.

At this precise moment, all that Grantaire went through seems so far. He feels safe, as if he had always belonged here, between Enjolras’ arms.

“I wish you had been the only one,” he whispers against Enjolras’ skin.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire finds out that Montparnasse wasn't Enjolras' only problem.

Enjolras doesn’t sleep. It’s not that he doesn’t need it, but what Grantaire told him keeps echoing in his mind. The only one. Yes, Enjolras would have loved being the only one too. Everything may have been easier that way.  
He cradles Grantaire against him and they stay like this for a long time, until Grantaire starts shivering and tightening his fingers on Enjolras’ flesh. He is frowning in his sleep, mumbling incoherent words – some of them sounding like “please” and “no”. Enjolras had hoped sleep would bring Grantaire some peace, but he had been wrong. Even now Grantaire is suffering.

Enjolras tries to soothe him as best as he can, stroking Grantaire’s forehead with his thumb as if it could make the frowning disappear.

“Shh, Taire. It’s okay.”

Grantaire makes a distressed sound.

“You’re safe, Taire. You’re safe.”

Maybe it is the tone of Enjolras’ voice, or his words manage to reach Grantaire’s dream, but Grantaire relaxes. He mumbles from time to time, however his sleep isn’t disturbed until he starts stirring an hour later. Enjolras is on the verge on proposing to eat something when Grantaire jerks away with a panicked look.

“Hey, you’re safe, you’re with us” Enjolras says quickly, raising his palms up. “You’re back with us Taire.”

Grantaire ducks his head for a second, breath heavy. Then he gives Enjolras an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry. I forgot where I was for a second. I didn’t mean to –”

“It’s fine.” Enjolras kneels so that they are at the same level and gives him the most comforting smile he can. “You’ve been through a lot and we all understand that.”

“Thank you.”

Grantaire says it in such a grateful tone that for once, Enjolras can read him like an open book. It is clear that he thinks of himself as a burden the Amis are putting up with, and that he shouldn’t be so weak. Enjolras shuffles closer and takes his face between his hands, running a little circle on Grantaire’s temple.

“Stop thanking me. You don’t have to. You have no idea how relieved we are to have you with us. We all support you.”

“Yes but…” Grantaire worries his lower lip between his teeth, looking aside. “What if I wake up and I hit you? What if it becomes dangerous to be around me?”

“Well, if you ask for my opinion, I don’t believe you’ll become dangerous. Even if you accidentally hit me, that won’t keep me from sleeping by your side if you want me to.”

Enjolras sits back on his knees and brings Grantaire on his lap.

“Maybe I will help chasing your nightmares away.”

“Oh… Was I loud? I dreamt of Claquesous. He was torturing me again, and then you and Jehan, and Courf… It felt so real.”

Enjolras’ first impulse is to answer that part of it was real. As much as he hates it, a part of this nightmare was very real.

“It’s over now,” he simply answers. Which he knows isn’t true. It isn’t over, not yet. It won’t be over for a long time.

“Gueulemer told me something,” Grantaire says, interrupting Enjolras’ musings.

“In your dream?”

“No. Back then. I wanted to tell you earlier but with all this, it slipped out of my mind. He said I wasn’t the only one involved. That this mess was even bigger than you and Parnasse. Do you know what it means?”

He does, or at least he thinks so. The point is, Enjolras isn’t sure he wants Grantaire to be aware of the whole situation, at least for now. Grantaire should be resting, painting or playing with Laelaps. He doesn’t have to worry over things which shouldn’t concern him.

“I think I know, yes. I’ll settle that matter later.”

Enjolras grabs Grantaire’s arms so that they can both lie back, but Grantaire stops him with a hand on his chest.

“What?”

“It’s clearly not a matter you want to settle later.”

Enjolras sighs. Damn R and his stubbornness sometimes.

“Listen,” Grantaire says, “I know you. When there is something troubling you, you won’t stop working for a second until you find a solution.” Grantaire interrupts himself for a while, and his next words look like they physically hurt him. “I don’t want to slow you down. I don’t want you to worry over me when there is something serious going on.” 

Enjolras carefully removes Grantaire’s hand from his chest and they part. This is going to take some time, so they can at least get comfortable. Enjolras sits cross-legged and Grantaire settles in front of him, mirroring his position. If someone saw them like this, very solemn but also very naked, they would laugh.

“I understand your point,” Enjolras says, taking Grantaire’s hand between his. “Now, let me explain myself. First – and above everything – it’s you I care the most about. I can care about you and carry on working, and if I had to choose between you and my work, it would be you. Second, I admit there is something serious going on. It’s about Paris. And politics.”

At that, Grantaire arches an eyebrow. “No one told me your resume included an interest in politics.”

“It does, when politics involve the future of Paris. Anyway, I’ve been working on this for months. It can wait for another few days.”

“I don’t want to pry, but are you going to tell me more about it? In case you’re thinking of putting yourself in danger, that’s all.” Grantaire goes for a casual tone, but his flickering gaze betrays him.

“My plans don’t involve grenades this time, if that puts you at ease.”

“It’s a much more vicious game, then.”

“In a way, yes.”

However, it won’t draw blood and no life will be in peril. Moreover, now that Montparnasse is out of the picture, everything is going to be easier.

 

Two days later, Grantaire has the pleasant surprise to discover that he can open his eye again. Well, slightly open it, but when he looks in a mirror, the urge to break it lessens.

“It’s good,” Combeferre confirms.

Joly and him insisted on a daily check-up of Grantaire’s general state. Since Joly is busy taming Bahorel’s desire to stop taking his meds, Grantaire went to Combeferre.

“Your stitches look good too.”

“The scar won’t disappear though,” Grantaire groans.

“No. But it will be neat.” Combeferre pauses, his eyes boring into Grantaire’s. That always makes him feel like Combeferre is reading his mind, and he fidgets in his seat.

“I could look for some surgeries, if you would like me to,” Combeferre suggests. “The skin is very thin there, but I can make some research. Find a specialist.”

A part of Grantaire would love this option, yet he is not sure that would solve anything. He looks at the large mirror hanging on the wall of Combeferre’s room and studies his reflection. What if he gets rid of the scars? What would that change?

 

“It’s a part of me already,” Grantaire declares. “I got used to the first one, the second shouldn’t be a problem. And I look badass.”

Combeferre is kind enough to smile at Grantaire’s false self-confidence.

“You do. And you are.”

That makes Grantaire’s heart flutter. Combeferre doesn’t lie. He will find the right words to comfort someone, but he will never lie. He has always been there for Grantaire when he decided to stop drinking, and Grantaire has considered him a friend since that time. It feels so much like their old times together that Grantaire forgets himself and does what he always did when he wanted to thank Combeferre in a way that would make him flush adorably. He bends forward and presses a quick peck on Combeferre’s lips. The moment their eyes catch up, Grantaire can see how tense Combeferre is. Instantly, Enjolras comes back to his mind and Grantaire wants to kick himself.

“Oh shit! Damn, shit sorry Ferre. I don’t know… I wasn’t thinking, I… Sorry. Old habits.”

Combeferre smiles and regains his usual composure.

“It’s fine,” he says, proceeding to check a nasty bruise on Grantaire’s ribcage. Professionalism alive.

They remain silent for a few seconds, until Combeferre looks up with a glint in his eyes.

“So, I guess you and Enjolras are together?”

“Yes. We… yes, we are. Wow, that’s a weird thing to say. Nicely weird.”

Grantaire had felt that they were. Of course, how couldn’t he? Yet having someone else voicing it that made it… real. Very nice. Whatever Combeferre saw on his face, he gave him a bright grin – the equivalent of Courfeyrac bursting in a room with Champagne flowing out of a bottle. Thinking of Courfeyrac…

“Ferre?”

“Yes?”

“Have you noticed anything going on with Courfeyrac? Like I don’t know, him being more… how can I say it, hum…”

“You mean, him being more Courfeyrac than usual?”

“Yes.”

“More or less.”

Combeferre sounds dead serious and Grantaire is a little disappointed. That’s not the answer he was hoping for.

“However, I did notice that he and Jehan are trying to become a single person. They are not very subtle about it, especially when they attempt to melt into each other on the couch.”

“Ah!” That’s much better. Grantaire can’t stop smiling and Combeferre chuckles, unable to keep up with his pretended seriousness any longer.

“What happened? I knew there was something going on lately.”

That’s the great thing about Combeferre. He can bring comfort at any time and give his life to save someone, Grantaire has no doubt about that. But he can also gossip like a teenager when he wants to and Grantaire loves it.

“When we attacked Montparnasse, some of us were in his office as a distraction. We weren’t armed but some of Marius’ men came in – as planned – and took down Montparnasse’s thugs before they could kill us. However, one tried to shoot Courfeyrac and he would have managed if Jehan hadn’t killed him. I believe that’s what started it all. Also, Courf confessed that he had – I quote – “an epiphany” when he saw Jehan throwing a grenade.”

“They are so damn cute.”

“Hmm. But not as much as you and Enjolras.”

“Oh, stop it Ferre.”

 

After a week, Joly takes off the stitches. Combeferre was right – the scar is neat. Two weeks after that, Joly finally takes off Grantaire’s splint and plans his re-education. His fingers don’t look so bad, unlike what he expected, even though it is a bit hard to move them.

“Wow. You did a good work, Joly. Thank you.”

“Don’t forget your exercises though,” Enjolras says. 

Grantaire and Joly both laugh. Enjolras had insisted on being there, spending the whole time fidgeting on his chair.

“Thank God I’m not having a heart surgery,” Grantaire had joked, hoping to relax him. Enjolras had only looked at him with a shocked expression.

“I don’t even want to think about that,” he had groaned.

Grantaire turns his hand around, flexing his fingers carefully, and sends Enjolras a bright smile.

“See? I’m as good as new.”

When Joly leaves the room to clean the splint, Grantaire leans toward Enjolras.

“Do you want to celebrate that in the bedroom?” he asks with a grin. “Or any kind of room, I’m not picky.”

Grantaire knows for a fact after these past weeks that Enjolras isn’t picky either.

“I would love to, but we have to wait a bit. I’m holding a meeting when we’re done with your hand.”

“Well, we are done,” Grantaire replies, trying to hide his disappointment. The Amis scarcely have meetings these days and when they do, Grantaire doesn’t join them. None of them talked about it and he doesn’t feel like his presence is requested. “Did you elaborate a master plan to save the world?” he asks nonetheless.

“Only Paris. You can come, if you want to.”

“Really?”

Enjolras seems to be surprised by Grantaire’s surprise, but Grantaire didn’t expect him to say that. He had always supposed that Enjolras wanted to maintain a line between his work and Grantaire.

“Yes. I thought you were not interested in our meetings, but you’re free to join whenever you want.”

“Oh. Awesome.”

 

All of them are present at the meeting, so Grantaire guesses that it must be an important one. They sit around the table just like they did the evening Grantaire joined the Amis. So many things changed since that time – it makes Grantaire a bit dizzy to think about it.

Enjolras stands up and everyone stops chattering.

“Okay guys, I’m going to start from the beginning, considering that we didn’t tell Grantaire what we’re up to.”

“Yes,” Courfeyrac says while examining his nails, “since someone insisted on a Don’t-stress-Grantaire policy lately. One clue, and believe it or not: it wasn’t Joly.”

Grantaire and Eponine share an amused look and try not to giggle upon seeing Enjolras’ displeased frown.

“I still think it was the right thing to do, Courf. Now. Can I go on?”

Courfeyrac nods like he didn’t say a word and it is the most obvious thing for Enjolras to do.

“Thank you. To sum up quickly, we’re working against a politician, and in favour of another one. Montparnasse and his gang did that man’s dirty work, and this is the reason they became our direct enemies. First step of our plan was to get rid of Montparnasse. Now we aim at getting rid of the politician. Metaphorically of course, we don’t want to kill him.”

“Only his career,” Combeferre adds, tongue-in-cheek.

Grantaire raises a hand to slow them down. He hadn’t expected that. In his mind, they were trying to get some money out of a corrupt man. But now, he senses what’s coming, and if he isn’t mistaken, this is not about money. It is about ideals. Worst case possible.

“May I ask the name of that politician?”

“Bousquet,” Enjolras answers, frowning when Grantaire lets out a breathy laugh which says “I knew it”.

“Jacques Bousquet? This ultra conservative candidate who wants to become mayor?”

“Yes,” Enjolras replies. “It is of great importance that we get him out of the picture. He is in a good position to win the next elections. We can’t let that happen. Having a man such as him ruling Paris would be disastrous.”

“Just because he doesn’t share your political views, that doesn’t mean you have a right to destroy him. Even metaphorically speaking,” Grantaire objects.

Enjolras sits down, and he stares hard at Grantaire.

“This man is dangerous, Taire. He is a criminal. A good one, since we couldn’t find any proof of what he did. We don’t even have anything solid tying him to Montparnasse, so we’ll have to trick him. He cannot rule Paris. It will be chaos if he does.”

“And the other candidate? How are you sure he is better than Bousquet?”

“Monsieur Madeleine? He is a respectable, honest man. We know him.”

Now Grantaire feels the urge to tease, and he is not going to fight it. He sits back in his chair, crossing his arms.

“No offence E, but how does a respectable man get to meet the Amis? I am not saying this against you. Let’s face the truth: people like us don’t have the most respectable lives.”

The Amis look embarrassed and no one seems willing to answer. Except Enjolras, of course.

“Well, since it’s time for honesty, ‘Madeleine’ isn’t his real name. When we first met him, the man told us he was ‘Jean Valjean’. An ex-convict. I know how it sounds, but Valjean is a good man who shouldn’t have gone to jail.”

“Oh, so he did the wrong things for the right reasons?”

“He did,” Enjolras hisses. “No one knows who he used to be, and Monsieur Madeleine is a good man with promising ideas for Paris.”

“So you plan on making the good man win by tricking his opponent to get him out of the competition? That’s one way to perceive honesty.”

“It’s for the right reason,” Enjolras insists, and Grantaire can tell that the leader’s self-control is starting to slip.

“You can’t build a kingdom on a rotten base, Enjolras. That’s all I’m saying. How are you going to proceed, anyway? You said it, Bousquet is great at covering his tracks.”

“He is. However, he has one weakness. The man likes to punctuate his campaign with homophobic ideas. He also condemns ‘all kinds of filth’ as he puts it, which includes prostitutes. We found out that despite his doctrine, Bousquet happens to enjoy the company of prostitutes. Female, as well as male.”

Grantaire shrugs. “That’s common knowledge.”

“In some circles, it is,” Combeferre agrees. “In the less respectable circles, if you want to say it like this. But not so many know. Those who are going to vote have never heard a single word about this.”

Grantaire knows deep down that he won’t like what Enjolras is going to say next.

“What do you need to bring him down, then?” Grantaire asks. “A picture of him kissing a prostitute?”

“Something like that,” Enjolras replies. “It would bring serious damage to his campaign. But a video would be good better, one where he confesses what he truly thinks. Like someone would do with their lover.”

“Christ” Grantaire mutters. “Who is the lucky boy?”

The Amis look at each other, once again unwilling to answer. This smells bad. Grantaire notices the displeased twitch at the corner of Courfeyrac’s mouth. Jehan does too, and he takes Courf’s hand in his smaller one.

“I’m going,” Jehan declares. “We all came to the conclusion that I’m the one Bousquet will like most.”

Grantaire shouldn’t be surprised, really. He should have expected such a dumb plan. He wants to laugh, waits for them to admit it is a bad joke. They don’t. He had been stupid to think they would at least hire someone to do the job.

“Can I say something?” Grantaire asks.

“All opinions are valuable,” Enjolras replies.

“It’s a fucking dumb idea! I’m sorry, but…” Anger tightens Grantaire’s throat, and he has to take a calming breath. “Really, do you think Bousquet is going to kiss Jehan where pictures can be taken? You will have to win his trust before he does something like that.”

“That’s part of the plan,” Enjolras explains.

“No, I don’t think it is. Do you have any idea what winning his trust implies? He’s most likely to fuck you before he kisses you.”

“Grantaire,” Courfeyrac sighs, and it is obvious he has already thought about that possibility.

“How can you be so sure?” Enjolras counters.

“I have been with so much men like Bousquet, I can sense their M.O. before they even touch me.”

“Look R,” Jehan says, “if that’s what is needed, then… I can do that. It might be our only chance.”

Grantaire wants to bang his head on the table, but he has barely recovered from all his bruises. He doesn’t want a new one for such a stupid argument. They just need an electroshock, and that Grantaire can provide.

“Fine. Let’s say you can do it. Go on, strip.”

The atmosphere goes from awkward to bewildered within a second. Jehan blinks, sending an unsure look to Courfeyrac.

“Uh… sorry?”

“I said, strip. What if Bousquet asks you to do that in front of him and his friends? You have to be ready for whatever he asks.”

“I can refuse.”

“No, you can’t. You want to win his trust? You don’t refuse. Same applies if he decides to share you with his friends. You don’t refuse. Do you still want to go?”

Jehan already has his mouth opened to answer, but Courfeyrac beats him to it.

“He’s not going. Jehan, you’re not going. I wasn’t in favour of this plan, now I’m plainly against it. We’ll find another way.”

Even Enjolras is backing down, Grantaire can tell just by looking at his face. However, the leader could very well decide to go instead of Jehan, and Grantaire won’t have that.

“Your plan can work,” he says. “All you have to do is assign the right task to the right person. I’ll go.”

A chorus of “Grantaire, no!” explodes in the room, mainly coming from Eponine and Bahorel, maybe Combeferre too. Grantaire isn’t sure, he only focuses on Enjolras.

“Grantaire, it’s no” the leader decides. “We’ll just drop that plan. You are not going.”

“I’m the most qualified for this, and you know it. It is nothing I have never done before.”

Enjolras slams his hand on the table. “I said no! Not you, not after everything you went through!”

“I’m in debt to you!” Grantaire exclaims, and he is losing his patience. “To all of you. Let me do at least one thing for you.”

“You are not in debt to any of us, when are you going to understand that? Anyway, I’m not letting you go, it’s too dangerous.”

“Oh, but sending Jehan wasn’t dangerous, right?” It’s a low blow, but Grantaire isn’t above that.

“We weren’t aware of all the risks when we decided to send Jehan! Now we are, and no one is going.”

“I’m not made of sugar, for fuck’s sake!”

“And I’m not sending you between the hands of another monster!” Enjolras shouts, his eyes ablaze.

“Just let me do something to stop being so fucking useless!” Grantaire blurts out, and he regrets his choice of word as soon as they leave his mouth.

The Amis must guess that this is going to become way too personal, because they all start to leave the room upon one sign from Combeferre.

“Let me do this for you. Please,” Grantaire says once the door closes behind the Amis.

“No, Taire. You don’t even believe in our cause.”

“I don’t believe it can succeed, that’s true, but it doesn’t mean I want it to fail. I long for a better world too, I just don’t think it can happen. And… you believe in it. You believe in it and I love you, that’s enough a reason.”

Grantaire said it. He managed to tell Enjolras he loved him, at a moment he never thought he would. Judging from Enjolras’ face, he didn’t expect that either. The leader walks around the table to sit in front of Grantaire and joins their fingers together.

“Stay by my side, then. You are from being useless here,” Enjolras begs. “I can’t bear the thought of you used by this asshole.”

“I’ll be safe. What I said earlier, it was to scare Jehan, because I know it can happen. But with Bousquet, it’s pretty safe. I don’t think he trusts anyone enough to share that kind of… moment. Yet just in case he asks for something twisted, you have to send a pro. I am.”

It’s a lie, Bousquet is the type for that, but Enjolras doesn’t need this info.

“Be serious.”

“I am wild.”

Enjolras lets out an exasperated grunt, but his resolution is wavering.

“Why did you… Is there a reason you picked that precise example?”

Grantaire swallows and right now, it is very hard to meet Enjolras’ gaze.

“I… when I started doing what I do, I was quite young. After a year or so, I met a man. Charismatic, rich, gentle. Loving. Well, I thought so at the time. He became a regular client, took me to dinner, stayed to talk with me. He even told me he loved me and that’s all I needed to fall in love. He promised me he would take me out of that life.”

Here Grantaire has to stop. He has never shared that story with anyone, perhaps because he still feels ashamed for having been so naïve.

“One evening, he asked me to come to his office. I thought he wanted some fun at his workplace, like we did sometimes. When I arrived, there were two of his colleagues with him. He wanted to share me with them, like a bottle you pass around. I said no and I left. After a punch in his face when he tried to stop me, and some threats involving extremely dangerous friends of mine. Imaginary friends, but they didn’t know.”

Enjolras hasn’t moved during his whole speech. Grantaire runs gentle circles on his knees and snakes his fingers in his blond curls.

“All this to say that I know things can go sour, but I can also hold my ground when they do. Let me have my way with Bousquet. You will have your election, and I will help you get rid of one more asshole. Please. I need it.”

It takes a long time for Enjolras to answer, and when he does, Grantaire barely hears his whispered “Okay”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have news! I've had much more time to write lately, and I'm almost done with the next chapter (which will be the last before the epilogue) so I should be able to post it within two or three days. The epilogue should follow during the week. Almost the end :)


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One last mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added a mildly dubious consent warning for this chapter, considering the whole fucked-up situation, even though Grantaire is willing to go.

They decide to wait for another two weeks before sending Grantaire on the field. That leaves more time to improve the plan and Enjolras wants to allow Grantaire as much rest as possible. The day before Grantaire has to go, Enjolras finds him in their park, lying barefoot in the grass with Laelaps jumping around him.

“He has grown so much,” Enjolras says while he lies down next to Grantaire. Laelaps doesn’t waste time and rushes to Enjolras to lick his ear.

“Yeah. And our little wolf is going to grow much more.”

It is true, he does look like a wolf, and his snowy fur contrasts beautifully with Grantaire’s raven black hair.

“I don’t want you to go,” Enjolras blurts out.

Grantaire turns on his side to face him and traces the line of Enjolras’ jaw with his fingers.

“I’ll be back before you know it.”

“That’s a lie. We don’t know how long this is going to be. I already miss you.”

They decided that during the mission, Grantaire would live in a flat owned by the Amis in Paris. First because the plan is to lure Bousquet in there – Bossuet and Courfeyrac spent a great amount of time hiding cameras in each room – and also because the man is likely to investigate on Grantaire. They can’t risk Grantaire coming back to the mansion and being followed. Of course, this implies that visits to the flat will be scarce, if not nonexistent.

“Don’t worry, E. We’ll have fantastic goodbye sex. You’ll be so exhausted you will wish you don’t see my face for weeks.”

“About that… would you fuck me?” Enjolras blames his stress for saying it like this, without any delicacy.

Grantaire is taken aback, but a lazy grin creeps up on his face.

“It would be my pleasure. Why the sudden envy?”

“You’re always on the receiving end. It’s unfair for you.”

“I also get my pleasure, you know. You must do it for you too, not only for me.”

Enjolras turns on his side too, bringing Grantaire closer to his chest. The grass is cool against his cheek, and all he can see is Grantaire’s bright eyes, and his curls ruffled by a light breeze. He wants to remember this moment forever.

“I’m also doing it for me. I want us to know each other as much as we can. Emotionally and physically.”

Enjolras expects a sarcastic comment from R regarding the emotional side, but it never comes. Instead, he hugs Enjolras tighter.

“You know what?” Grantaire asks, and Enjolras can hear the smile in his voice. “I love it when you go from ‘I’ll miss you’ to ‘please fuck me’. It’s cute.”

“I don’t think ‘please fuck me’ is the exact wording I used.”

“No, but you will.”

Grantaire giggles, and it’s so communicative that Enjolras does too. Soon the giggles turn into laughter and Enjolras forgets for a while that Grantaire is going to leave soon.

 

“I have to confess it has been a long time,” Grantaire says as he kneels between Enjolras’ legs. “I don’t often get to top.”

Enjolras can understand Grantaire’s nervousness. He isn’t the most comfortable person on earth either for now. Apart from the fact that he doesn’t have sex so often, he rarely met someone with whom he was relaxed enough to bottom. But he trusts R with his life.

When Grantaire’s fingers stretch him open, they are hesitant and remind Enjolras of Grantaire’s insecurities. Yet they are also incredibly gentle, just like Grantaire can be. Enjolras has to admit he isn’t totally relaxed when Grantaire pushes the head in, but Grantaire strokes his thigh and whispers soft words in his ear, and he makes everything better. They both sigh when Grantaire buries himself in Enjolras, shuddering with pleasure. He starts thrusting at a slow rhythm, getting almost all the way out before he pushes back in.  
But Grantaire isn’t only made of care and gentleness, and soon his thrusts gain a teasing edge. His grin widens as he brushes Enjolras’ prostate with a little more force every time he thrusts in. Soon, Enjolras sees stars and he claws Grantaire’s sides, leaving red lines behind.

“Come on Taire, harder,” he says, hooking his legs around Grantaire’s waist.

His lover doesn’t need to be told twice. Enjolras contracts around him viciously and Grantaire whines, burying his face in the crook of Enjolras’ neck. Grantaire isn’t the only teaser in this room.

“Dammit, E… I love you so much.”

Grantaire catches Enjolras’ earlobe between his teeth and starts jerking him off, adding a little twist of his wrist that does wonders. Their movements become erratic and Enjolras lets out a broken moan when he goes over the edge. Grantaire thrusts two or three times more and goes still above him.

“I don’t want you to go,” Enjolra says, pressing his head against Grantaire’s curls.

“I know… I know.”

 

Grantaire is supposed to meet Bousquet at a party. Well, it’s not a party according to Grantaire’s standards – too many suits and not enough music.  
Combeferre is going with him to play his rich partner – they all agreed that Enjolras would never manage to keep calm. His client, to be more accurate, since that is what they want Bousquet to think. None of them knows how this is going to play out, or if it is going to work. To Enjolras’ dismay, Grantaire waved his hand in the air and said, “We’ll improvise”.

Here they are, improvising between the buffet and glasses of Champagne.

“God, I could use one of those,” Grantaire mutters.

Combeferre doesn’t need to follow his gaze to know what he is talking about.

“Relax. We’re doing great so far.”

“You’re doing great. I just stand here giggling at everything you say.”

It is true, Combeferre has an exceptional ability to mingle and to start a conversation. On the other hand, Grantaire doesn’t feel at ease, and the weird looks he receives when people discover his scars aren’t helping. He hadn’t thought too much about the scars when he had made his decision, he was too focused on preventing Enjolras from doing something stupid.

Combeferre presses his hand in the small of Grantaire’s back and leans down towards him.

“Giggling is fine,” he whispers low in his ear, and anyone watching would mistake it for a lovers’ talk. “Bousquet is watching you.”

Grantaire giggles again and gives him a coy smile. Bousquet was already there when they arrived and Grantaire makes sure to glance at him every now and then. Until now, his efforts hadn’t been rewarded.

“Is he like ‘who is this creepy guy looking at me’ or ‘I wouldn’t mind taking a bite of that ass’?”

Combeferre chuckles. “Second one.”

“Awesome. I bet he loves getting what isn’t his. Ready, Ferre?”

Combeferre nods and they make their way to the buffet to take another drink. There they find a man Combeferre had a chat with a few minutes ago, and it is no trouble at all to start the conversation again. Grantaire doesn’t even have to pretend he is bored. He gazes around, and when his eyes wander to the spot Bousquet is standing, he finds the politician checking him up and down. Grantaire makes sure no one is looking at him – and he makes sure Bousquet sees him doing that – and winks. Fuck subtlety, they don’t have time for that. Bousquet raises his glass slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching up. It is time for Grantaire to make his move.

“I’m in a sudden need for a petit four, honey,” he purrs to Combeferre, and doesn’t wait for an answer before he goes to another buffet.

Grantaire goes from one plate of food to another and it’s not long before Bousquet excuses himself to the men he is talking with. He joins Grantaire at the buffet, maintaining a respectable distance between them, but less than you would with a stranger.

“Having trouble finding something to your taste?” Bousquet asks.

Grantaire purses his lips and doesn’t look up from the food.

“Having trouble not dying of boredom,” he replies.

Bousquet laughs and Grantaire finally turns to face him.

“I have never seen you here. I’m sure I wouldn’t forget someone like you. You look… inappropriate.”

Grantaire raises an offended eyebrow.

“Well, I’m sure I would forget someone like you,” he counters. “You look boring.”

Bousquet laughs. “Please, forgive me, I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s only that your suit… it doesn’t do you justice.”

“How is that?”

Bousquet takes a step closer and leans down to pick up a petit four, his hand brushing against Grantaire’s hip on the way.

“It’s not wild enough for you,” he replies, handing Grantaire a petit four stuffed with salmon.

Grantaire takes it, brushing their fingers. “I agree with you on that point.”

He doesn’t break eye contact once while he eats the petit four. Hungry doesn’t even start to describe the way Bousquet watches him.

“Are you so wild your boyfriend can’t keep you by his side?” he asks when Grantaire is done, nodding to Combeferre who is still deep in his conversation.

“He is not my boyfriend,” Grantaire replies without looking at Combeferre. “More like a professional acquaintance.”

“You two look close, for professional acquaintances.”

“That’s inherent to my line of work.”

Grantaire doesn’t conceal his laugh when realisation downs upon Bousquet. Grantaire picks up another petit four a takes a seductive bite.

“So, you were kind of right earlier,” he adds, and then lowers his voice to a whisper, “I am an inappropriate person.”

Bousquet clears his throat and takes a quick look around the room.

“Is there any of your other… acquaintances, here?”

“Apart from my supposed boyfriend? Nope. Worried that people might see you with a whore?”

Bousquet squares his shoulders and squeezes Grantaire’s shoulder, rubbing a circle with his thumb.

“I only have friends here. They wouldn’t judge me, even though I admit I favour discretion regarding some of my activities.”

The hand on his shoulder tightens, and Grantaire moves a little forward.

“I would be careful if I were you, Sir. They say real betrayal only comes from those who are close to you.”

“You’re the one to talk,” Combeferre says from behind him.

Bousquet takes his hand off without any rush and Grantaire hooks his arm around Combeferre’s, acting as if nothing had happened.

“What’s wrong? We were only talking.”

“Talking is over, we’re leaving.”

Combeferre nods to Bousquet, and drags Grantaire behind. When Grantaire’s shoulder bumps with Bousquet’s, he reaches for his hand and slides him a card with his number and an elegant R written above it. With one last wink, he leaves the room, feeling Bousquet’s eyes following him all the way.

 

Combeferre drives Grantaire to his new flat, where an excited Laelaps is waiting for him.

“You think Bousquet will call?” Combeferre asks while they climb the stairs leading to the flat.

“Yes, I believe I made quite an impression. I could swear at one point he was ready to throw me on the buffet and ravish me.”

They are in front of the door now, and they can hear Laelaps scraping it on the other side.

“Do you want to come in?”

“No, Enjolras needs my report. Even though I’m pretty sure he’ll call you before I get home.”

“How would he know…” Ah, yes. The cameras. Enjolras is probably checking them on a regular basis. “Okay. Thank you, Ferre. You were perfect tonight.”

Combeferre hugs him, a little longer than usual.

“I was glad to help. Be careful, R. Don’t take this too far.”

“No worries. Stay safe.”

“You, stay safe.”

Combeferre may not love him the way Enjolras does, but it is obvious he is displeased with the whole idea. Grantaire sighs, but the knot in his stomach loosens when Laelaps yaps as soon as he steps inside the flat.

“Hey buddy! Yeah, I missed you too, I missed you little mister!”

Grantaire ruffles Laelaps’ fur and looks for one of the cameras. Courfeyrac hid them so well he doesn’t see them, and he doesn’t even remember where most are located. At last, he remembers the one hidden in that modern sculpture standing in the corner of the living room. Grantaire puts himself right in front of it and waves, giving the camera a cheeky grin. His phone rings five seconds later. Grantaire picks up without looking who the caller is.

“Evening, Apollo.”

“You seem to be all right.”

Grantaire smiles and bats his eyelashes at the camera.

“I think Bousquet is hooked. You’re going to hate it, but he is quite enthusiastic.”

“You’re right, I hate it. I miss you.”

“Miss you too. Oh wait, someone wants to say hi.”

Grantaire bends down and takes Laelaps in his arms. The puppy is getting bigger and bigger, and he won’t be able to do that for long anymore. Grantaire takes his paw and waves it.

“Hi E!” he squeals, the phone stuck between his ear and his shoulder. “We miss you here! It is empty without you.”

Laelaps wiggles and Grantaire puts him down. At least it made Enjolras laugh.

“If you knew how empty it is without you,” Enjolras says, emphasizing the ‘you’.

“Let me have a small selfish moment and say I am glad to hear it. You’ll be able to see me at least. I don’t get that privilege.” Which is sad. He could stare at Enjolras all day. “Are you going to watch me all the time?”

“God, no. That would be creepy. But I will check on you from time to time.”

“Okay. Don’t forget to eat, don’t drown yourself in your work. I left specific orders to Joly, he is watching you.”

“He already is,” comes the amused answer.

Grantaire grins. “He’ll watch you even more. I love you.”

“Me too, Taire.”

“God, we’re sickening. I’m going to hang up, otherwise we’re both going to cry within two minutes.”

“Okay. Call me whenever you want.”

“I will.”

Grantaire waves at the camera and hangs up.

“Come Laelaps, time to eat.”

Grantaire suddenly remembers that the Amis also bugged the flat. He’ll have to be careful with his self-talking nonsense.  
His phone rings at the exact moment Grantaire slides in bed. The number is unknown, yet Grantaire has little doubt regarding the identity of the caller. He puts on his best purring voice.

“Hello?”

“Are you always so seductive when you pick your phone?”

“When I want to seduce, yes.”

“You want to seduce a boring man?”

“I said you looked boring, not that I’m unwilling to see if that’s true.”

God, Enjolras is hearing that. Or he will, since they record everything.

“How much for a night with a boring man?”

“Four hundred.” Grantaire doesn’t take that much in general, but this one has money.

“Would you like to be proven wrong tomorrow evening?” Bousquet asks with the voice of a man who knows he won’t be turned down.

“Why not? I have an adventurous spirit.”

“I like that. Meet me at the Hôtel Vallon, ten p.m.?”

“Can’t wait,” Grantaire says.

When Bousquet hangs up, Grantaire texts Enjolras with this new information. Bousquet certainly owns that hotel – they wouldn’t meet in a place not secure for him.  
The following day, Enjolras confirms what Grantaire expected: Bousquet does own the hotel. Grantaire will be surrounded by people obeying to the politician. He isn’t as dangerous as a man like Montparnasse, at least not in the same way, but Grantaire will have to keep his guard up.  
His day is awfully long. Talking with Enjolras that morning didn’t help, since the leader sounded ready to murder someone. They knew this moment would come, but it doesn’t make it easier. Grantaire occupies his mind by painting, walking Laelaps, doing his exercises for his hand. He is almost relieved when it is time to go.  
When Grantaire arrives at the hotel, Bousquet isn’t waiting for him, but that’s not a surprise. At the reception he is given a key and directed to a room, but no word concerning Bousquet’s arrival.  
The room is more like a suite, with paintings and sculptures, as well as expensive furniture. Bousquet has some taste. Grantaire drops his bag, kicks off his shoes and flops down on the bed. Nice mattress.  
Bousquet arrives thirty minutes later, and Grantaire is waiting for him in the main room, propped up against a massive wooden table.

“You look good, R,” Bousquet declares.

Grantaire chose a tight green t-shirt and a pair of skinny jeans – which he hates wearing, but clients love them, so.

“Busy day?” he asks.

“Always.”

Bousquet takes off his tie and tosses it on a table. Grantaire doesn’t move, even when Bousquet grabs his chin and turns his head to the right, then the left, studying him closely.

“You look like nothing I’ve seen before,” Bousquet declares. He presses on the freshest scar with his thumb. “I can’t wear to hear that story.”

“It’s a boring one.”

“I see. Is everything boring to your eyes?”

Grantaire’s tongue darts out to wet his lips. “It depends.”

“Let’s keep you interested then. Strip and turn around.”

“Just like that? No drink, no sweet talk?”

“I have to see if you’re worth it first.”

“A real gentleman.”

Grantaire gives him a condom and does as instructed. He is glad he came prepared, because Bousquet pushes in without warning – except from the hand grabbing his hip and the other clasping his shoulder – and doesn’t leave him too much time to adjust. Grantaire exaggerates his hisses of discomfort and Bousquet snaps his hips harder. Yeah, Grantaire thought the man would like that. He rocks back against Bousquet, this time exaggerating his whimpers of pleasure. He was right: Bousquet is boring.  
The slapping of skin on skin doesn’t last long and Bousquet soon stills inside of him. The pulling out lacks as much delicacy as the whole act and Grantaire winces.

Bousquet pulls up his zipper and slaps Grantaire’s ass.

“You’re worth a drink.”

 

Grantaire gets home past midnight, but doesn’t think twice about calling Enjolras. He needs it. The phone rings once and Enjolras picks up. Whether he was checking the cameras or next to his phone – maybe both – isn’t important. Grantaire is just glad to hear him.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes. Yes, I… need to hear you, that’s all.”

“We can stop everything right now and I’m coming –”

“No, it’s okay, really. I feel weird, that’s all. It feels weird to go back to all this because now, well… there is you. But Bousquet likes me, so we are not going to waste this opportunity.”

“I wish I could hold you.”

“Yeah, me too. Tell me about your day.”

Grantaire can almost hear Enjolras debating in his mind to decide if he wants to drop the subject like that. He does, and starts telling Grantaire about their new research on Bousquet, another argument between Joly and Bahorel, and how disgusting Jehan and Courf are together. Also that he is a bit jealous of them. That’s all Grantaire needed to hear.  
That night he sleeps on the couch – which is as large as the bed – with Laelaps in his arms.

 

Two, then three weeks go by. Bousquet calls Grantaire every two nights during the week, and all the weekends. If Grantaire looks at the bright side, he is making some money. In addition, Bousquet has confided some business-related info to him, and Enjolras almost clapped his hands when Grantaire told him about it. Downside is, Bousquet doesn’t come to Grantaire’s flat, although Grantaire tried many times to lure him there. The man is cautious – Grantaire can’t blame him – and they don’t leave their expensive suite. They have to change their plan.

“I need a camera,” Grantaire tells Enjolras one day. “Bousquet won’t come to the flat, but I can put a camera in the suite. There are so many hiding places in it, you have no idea. Wait no, I need two cameras. He likes the living room as much as the bedroom. Can you ask Combeferre to bring them tonight?”

When Grantaire hears a soft knock on his door that evening, he bounces off the sofa, ready to greet Combeferre. It’s not him.

“Enjolras?”

Grantaire checks his neighbours’ doors and tugs Enjolras in, locking the door behind them.

“Are you crazy?” Grantaire hisses. “We chose Combeferre for a reason. What if someone saw you? You know Bousquet might be keeping an eye on me!”

Enjolras doesn’t look impressed at all.

“No one followed me, and I could be one of your clients. Besides, no one knows what I look like,” he adds while shrugging off his coat.

“Yeah, until someone does.”

Laelaps comes rushing between Enjolras’ legs, bouncing a little.

“Well, at least he is happy to see me.”

“I am happy to see you. That’s reckless, that’s all I am saying.”

Grantaire sighs and hooks his arms around Enjolras’ neck. He smiles and kisses him. After all, he was longing to see Enjolras. Enjolras presses their bodies together, inhaling Grantaire’s scent.

“You sounded tense on the phone these days. I was worried,” Enjolras says. “I still am.”

They part and Grantaire saunters to the kitchen, Enjolras in his trail.

“Don’t be. We’re going to have some images soon, I just have to hide the cameras in the suite.”

Enjolras leans on the kitchen counter, watching Grantaire buzz through the drawers and cupboards to prepare the meal.

“No, I mean I am worried about you, Taire. How is he treating you?”

Great, the point Grantaire didn’t want to discuss with Enjolras tonight. Or any night, for that matter. Thanks to his cooking, he doesn’t have to turn to answer Enjolras.

“He treats me like a man treats his whore, nothing exceptional.”

If only he could sound casual about it, but it seems he has lost this ability.

“Why are you wearing a scarf? You don’t wear scarves, so why now inside of your flat?”

Of course he would notice. Even though Combeferre was supposed to be here tonight, Grantaire had chosen to hide his neck, because if Combeferre sees something alarming, no doubt he is going to tell Enjolras.

“Well, I own scarves, I have to wear them sometimes. Is that a problem?”

“No,” and Enjolras sounds like he is trying very hard to stay calm, “what you’re hiding under it is a problem.”

No point arguing. Grantaire puts his pan down with more force than necessary, goes to the counter with two long strides and rips his scarf off. Enjolras’ jaw tenses when he looks down at the purple mark marring Grantaire’s throat, and his stare hardens.

“If you could avoid looking at me with such contempt, I would appreciate it.”

Enjolras blinks like he had forgotten Grantaire’s presence. He goes around the counter and takes Grantaire in his arms, and it is so tight it hurts but Grantaire loves it.

“Forgive me, I was thinking about him. I would never feel any contempt towards you.”

They press their foreheads together, and Grantaire can’t repress a wince when Enjolras squeezes his hips. The leader draws back, a suspicious look on his face.

“Is there anything else you’re hiding?”

“No.”

Grantaire tries to bat his hands away, but Enjolras only has to tug a bit on his sweatpants to discover fading handprints on his hipbones.

“It’s not even painful,” Grantaire mutters.

“Does he have to be so brutal with you?” Enjolras exclaims. “Look, we’re stopping this. It was a bad idea to start with, and we have another operation running in parallel anyway.”

“Wait, what?”

Now it is Grantaire’s turn to draw back and Enjolras is the one fidgeting awkwardly.

“Yes, we… we started last week. It’s getting too long for you and we figured out another way to trick him.”

“Pray tell what you bright idea is?”

“Bousquet needs money for his campaign. A lot. He had some trouble finding the funds, and I decided to pose as a rich businessman interested in supporting him, with dirty money. He agreed to the deal, so when we give him the money and leak that story to the newspa–”

“Wow, slow down. What if there is an investigation and the cops discovers the real identity of the mysterious businessman?”

“Well, it will be worse for Bousquet, since he made a deal with a criminal.”

“It’s stupid. Look, I only need another evening, maybe two, and you will have your videos. Call off you silly plan. Whatever you decide, I won’t stop now, otherwise these three weeks will be for nothing.”

Grantaire won’t back down on that point, but it is obvious Enjolras won’t back on his new plan either.

“I guess Bousquet will fall because of sex and money then,” Enjolras says.

“Yeah, let’s guess that.”

They eat in silence for a while, Enjolras sending pleading looks to Grantaire and nudging his calf with the tip of his foot until Grantaire sighs and chuckles.

“I’m still mad at you,” Grantaire warns.

 

They relieve the tension an hour later, when Grantaire rides Enjolras in the couch with his fingers thread in Enjolras’ hair and Enjolras’ mouth on his nipples.

“Bousquet doesn’t compare to you…” he moans after Enjolras alternates lapping and sucking on a nipple, leaving it red and swollen. “I bet you could surpass his dirty ta-talk.”

Enjolras drops his head back against the couch, his neck glistening with sweat. He slides a finger in Grantaire’s entrance along his cock. Grantaire shudders and undulates against him.

“Is he imaginative?” Enjolras asks.

“G-given the context… n-no. It is more like… ‘You like that, filthy… ah, filthy whore’?”

Grantaire wouldn’t mind it if the words came from Enjolras because he wouldn’t mean it. But Bousquet considers him a filthy whore.

“Also,” Grantaire adds, “you let me talk. He doesn’t like it so… so much when he fucks me.”

“I love how you start babbling when I fill you up… You’re so tight yet you can take so much.”

Enjolras twitches his finger inside Grantaire.

“Yes, take me in, Taire. My lovely, mouthy boy.”

Grantaire shakes and comes laughing. He falls on Enjolras’ chest, giggles mixed with his pants. He soon feels Enjolras’ spasms in and under him.  
When the room falls silent again, an interrogative whimper comes from behind them. Grantaire cranes his neck and discovers Laelaps lying under the living room table, watching them.

“Oh God no, Laelaps! E, we traumatized him.”

 

Enjolras leaves before dawn, after explaining Grantaire how the cameras work. He also gives him several bugs, even easier to hide. Bousquet often arrives a while after Grantaire, and tonight is no exception. Grantaire hides the cameras within some flowers but he will have to take them back before he leaves. Bousquet usually leaves the suite before Grantaire – it shouldn’t be a problem.  
Now the Amis are able to hear and see everything happening in the suite, and that’s a bit embarrassing. 

This time Bousquet doesn’t leave as soon as they are done, maybe because it is still early – not even nine o’clock. He calls for the room service and an employee brings them a bottle of Champagne.

“To what do I owe such a pleasure?” Grantaire asks when Bousquet hands him a glass.

He would rather not drink alcohol again.

“To an amazing collaboration. And a favour.”

Bousquet clinks their glasses together and Grantaire takes a small sip. He never liked Champagne.

“I had a meeting with several of my colleagues and associates today. It was a long, long day and they would like to relax, and…” Here Bousquet traces Grantaire’s lower lip with his thumb. “Have some fun. You will earn more than usual of course. And there will be a surprise for you.”

“How much money?”

“Five men including me, six hundred per man. What do you say?”

Grantaire takes another sip and smiles.

“Perfect,” Bousquet exclaims, clasping Grantaire’s knee. “Take more Champagne, I’m going to make a few calls.”

Grantaire still lays naked on the bed. He watches his drink with disdain and gets up to empty it in a flowerpot, then strolls back to the bed. The event is unexpected and he would have preferred to have a word with Enjolras before agreeing to this but the opportunity is too good to pass on. Grantaire is convinced that Bousquet’s colleagues are close enough to be working at the city hall with him if he is elected, so this is worth it. Bousquet comes back, putting his phone in his pocket.

“You have twenty minutes before our guests get here. You should take a shower.”

“As you wish.”

Grantaire’s phone buzzes right when he leaves the bed. He bends to pick up his jeans; however Bousquet catches his wrist before he can take the phone.

“You’ll check it later. Your shower is more important if you want your money.”

“Fine. I’m taking my jeans, that’s all.”

“You don’t need that either. Putting them on again is a waste of time, considering you won’t keep them for long.”

Grantaire doesn’t want to leave his phone with Bousquet, but he has little choice. He doesn’t have any picture of the Amis in it, and his contacts are all registered under nicknames but the message might be important. He’ll find a way to check it after his damn shower.

He doesn’t. When Grantaire steps outside the shower, he hears voices and laughter coming from the main room.

“Shit,” he mutters, wrapping the towel low on his waist.

Grantaire ruffles his wet hair and puts on his most hungry smile.

“Gentlemen,” he beams as he leaves the room, “which one of you is the first…”

His eyes fall on a mane of blond hair and worried blue eyes. No. Enjolras. Grantaire’s smile fades.

“… lucky man.”

Shit. Grantaire plasters a smile on his face again and sits on the armrest of Bousquet’s armchair. Two men are sitting on the sofa, another one and Enjolras on armchairs. Enjolras has his professional expression on, smiling politely at a joke the man next to him whispers in his ear.

“Well, guests first,” Bousquet decides. “Denis can’t wait for your talented mouth.”

Bousquet pushes Grantaire to the closest man sitting on the sofa. Grantaire takes off his towel and swings it over his shoulder. He kneels between Denis’ legs, sliding his hands on his thighs, and closes his mind to his surroundings the moment his lips touch the man’s dick. Everything is going to be fine if he doesn’t think about Enjolras. Plus, Grantaire is too tense to feel ashamed. How much times passes before the man spends in his mouth, Grantaire has no idea. He wipes his mouth and lets himself be hoisted on the sofa between the two men.

“You were right, Jacques,” Denis says, parting Grantaire’s legs. “He is a good one.”

“Yes,” Bousquet confirms, “a well-trained little whore.”

Grantaire hums and throws his arms above his head. He glances to Enjolras, who looks tense but not murderous as Grantaire feared. His expression could be mistaken for embarrassment.

“I am sure you all want to see how beautiful he is when he squirms.”

Bousquet tosses a dildo on the sofa. He must have taken it out when Grantaire was sucking off Denis. Grantaire swallows. It’s a job. A job for the greater good, and the last one. If he forgets about Enjolras’ presence, everything will be okay. Grantaire turns over and kneels up on the sofa, allowing Denis’ colleague to push the dildo into him. He is still loose and the man takes his time, thankfully. The angle is perfect for the camera. Grantaire yelps when the dildo starts vibrating.

“Such a tease,” he slurs, turning his head to wink at Bousquet. “Who’s next?”

“Jules, over there. He is a new addition to our team and keeping him waiting isn’t very nice.”

Grantaire freezes and from the corner of his eyes, he sees Enjolras doing the same. The buzzing of the vibrator intensifies and Grantaire has trouble concentrating. He gets off the couch and walks to Enjolras to straddle his lap. Grantaire loosens his tie, eyes locked with Enjolras’, while he grinds down on him. He hopes his eyes carry what he would like to tell Enjolras. Stay calm. It’s fine, we’re fine. We’ll make it.

“What is it like, having sex with strangers while your boyfriend watches?”

Grantaire feels Enjolras tensing under him, digging his fingers in Grantaire’s thighs. 

“What do you mean? I have many boyfriends,” Grantaire purrs.

“Yes, and our blond friend here must be your favourite,” Bousquet replies. “The way he looks at you…”

“Like every man should be looking at me.”

“We’re done playing!” Bousquet shouts, and he gets up so fast his armchair is thrown back on the ground. “I know you’re not a regular whore!”

Enjolras straightens in his seat and locks his arms around Grantaire.

“Don’t take another step. You will never touch him again.”

“Ah, Jules,” Bousquet sneers. “Or should I say, Enjolras? Yes, don’t look so surprised. I investigated on your whore’s past, and I couldn’t find much. But then I investigated on you, when you offered to give me your generous support. We got a picture of you and asked around to people who used to work with late Montparnasse. Do you know what came out? A name, the ABC. The organisation who took down my dear Parnasse. Another name followed: R. At first no one wanted to say too much, but I can be persuasive. My informers believed you two to be boyfriends, and it seems they were right. What I don’t understand is what you were planning to do. I have had the suite checked every day since last week, and no recording device was found. Do you expect people to take your word for it?”

Grantaire takes the dildo off his ass and sits across Enjolras’ lap, the leader’s arms still around him. He smirks and kisses Enjolras’ cheek.

“Should I?” Grantaire asks.

“Proceed, my love.”

Enjolras has his cold smile that announces nothing good for Bousquet and his friends, but they don’t know that. Grantaire gets up, dildo in hand. Denis stands to stop him, however Grantaire hits him in the nose with a swing of the dildo, and he falls back in the couch clutching at his face.

“Next one who moves will end up with a new nose,” Grantaire threatens, waving the dildo.

The men seem too taken aback to move. Grantaire goes to the bedroom and dresses quickly. Before he retrieves the camera, he bends in front of it so that his face is in the foreground and he tries to mouth “send a video” as clear as he can, hoping one the Amis will catch on that. Grantaire comes back in the main room and takes the other camera from the flowerpot, smirking at Bousquet, and gathers the bugs scattered in the room.

“You’re right, there wasn’t any camera in this room, until today,” Grantaire declares. “For once, luck was on our side. Now we have a nice video of you fucking me, you getting a blowjob and you pushing a dildo into a whore’s ass. Say bye to your careers.”

Bousquet grabs him by the upper arm, trying to retrieve the cameras.

“Hands off!” Enjolras exclaims, bouncing off his seat.

He puts himself between Grantaire and Bousquet, but they are outnumbered and Bousquet intends to take full advantage of that.

“You won’t leave this room,” Bousquet threatens.

Enjolras cocks his head aside. “Oh, is that so?”

Bousquet’s phone starts ringing at this precise moment.

“Go on, check it. I gave your number to a friend of mine,” Grantaire says.

Bousquet hesitates, but he taps on his phone screen nonetheless and his eyes widen after a few seconds. Characteristic sounds of Grantaire moaning emerge from the phone.

“You did not…”

“We did,” Enjolras confirms.

Bousquet reddens and a vein starts throbbing on his temple.

“I am going to end you and your little friends. I’ll put the cops on your trail,” he threatens.

“Well, let me doubt that. You’ve lost all credibility tonight. Plus, you haven’t received the money I offered you, and you won’t.”

“I can still give them the faces of the leader of the ABC and his little whore.”

“You won’t. Remember what happened to dear Parnasse? You’ll end up like him.” Enjolras turns to all the others. “All of you.”

“Besides, what do you have on us?” Grantaire adds. “Nothing apart from you offering money to a whore. Also, I’m pretty sure my face doesn’t appear once on that video we sent you. Neither Enjolras’.”

“What makes you think you’re still going out of that room alive?”

Enjolras shrugs. “We sent the video to you, but I bet it has also reached some well-known newspapers by now. If I were you, I would stop worrying about us and start calling my lawyer or… whoever you call when someone drops a bomb on your reputation.”

A chorus of shouts explodes behind them, and they smirk when Bousquet’s colleagues all take their phones and start tapping frantically on the screen. Grantaire turns back to Bousquet, who stands there motionless with his phone in hand.

“You’re fucked,” Grantaire hisses.

He tosses the dildo at the politician’s feet and turns on his heels, Enjolras’ arm around his shoulders. No one cares to stop them when they leave the suite.

 

They stop by the flat to take Laelaps and some of Grantaire’s stuff, then head right to the mansion. Grantaire is exhausted, but he feels better as soon as he sees the Amis’ faces. When he and Enjolras step into the living room where they are all gathered, they remain silent, waiting for the leader or Grantaire to say something.

“It worked,” Enjolras says, a smile breaking on his face. Cries of joy and relief fill the room, and they all hug Grantaire in turns. Bahorel – who is walking with a cane – manages to lift him off the floor when he hugs him.

“Thank you, R,” Jehan says when Bahorel puts Grantaire down.

“You were amazing,” Courfeyrac adds.

Grantaire can’t manage more than a contrite smile. He’s had sex with most of them, but that was different from what they saw on the videos. Combeferre comes to him later, when the others are talking with Enjolras about the operation, making guesses on how the public opinion will react.

“Only Bossuet and I saw the videos,” Combeferre confides. “I thought you would like to know.”

“Yes. Thanks. I was worried about that, to be honest. Congratulations on your perfect timing, by the way. I wasn’t sure you would get my message.”

“I did. We were already editing a video with parts where no one can see your face. However, the rest is crystal clear, Bousquet won’t find a way out of it, nor his friends. We owe you a lot, R.”

Grantaire waves his hand. “Nah. I’m glad you succeeded. Now, don’t fuck up with your Valjean candidate.”

“With Bousquet out of the picture, it should be okay. Speaking of that, if you don’t feel all right… it’s understandable, you know. I’m here if you need to talk. Any of us, actually, but just so you know.”

“Thank you. I might… I might need to talk, one of these days. I’m fine but, yeah, we’ll talk.”

 

Grantaire goes to bed first, and Enjolras joins him not long after, snuggling against him.

“I can’t sleep,” Grantaire mutters. “I can’t stop thinking about what happened. I feel dirty.”

“If there is anything I can do… I don’t know what to do. Tell me.”

“You’re here, that’s all I need. I would have preferred it if you hadn’t seen what happened though.”

“I am sorry you went through this, but you alone with them would have been worse.”

Grantaire tightens the sheet around them, warming his feet against Enjolras’ legs.

“How did you end up with them?” he asks.

“I had an appointment to talk about the sum I would give Bousquet, and he wanted to have that talk with his closest partners. I guess they already all knew who we are. They invited me to a party, in order to seal our deal. I feared it involved you, but I couldn’t be sure. I sent you a message when I had the opportunity, but you never answered.”

“Bousquet didn’t let me. I can’t believe this asshole preached against prostitution.”

“He won’t preach anymore, thanks to you. Paris owes you. I owe you, Taire. How can I make it up to you?”

“Take holidays?” Grantaire suggests. “Spend time with me before you find another cause.”

“Promise. I will always have time for you and I will never put a cause before you well-being again.”

“Stop you self-flagellation. I was willing and I’m proud I did it. I need time, that’s all. And if you could lock up any bottle of alcohol, that would be great. I don’t want to relapse.”

“Everything you need.”

For now, Grantaire has everything he needs, and he falls asleep with this thought in mind.

 

Grantaire wakes up late, judging by the height of the sun in the sky. He turns on his side, and is surprised when his arm connects with warmth and not empty sheets. Enjolras is lying next to him, wide-awake and reading a book. He already looks glorious.

“Morning,” Grantaire mutters. He is still not a morning person.

“Hey, you,” Enjolras says, bending to kiss Grantaire.

“Wow wow, beware the morning breath,” Grantaire replies, burying his face in his pillow. “We’re not ready for that.”

“We’re ready for everything. Come on, let me kiss you.”

“No!” Grantaire exclaims. He springs out of bed, laughing.

“How can you be so fast when you look so sleepy?” Enjolras asks while chasing after him.

“My toothpaste is calling me!” Grantaire yells, and locks himself in the bathroom, giggling.

He reappears two minutes later and Enjolras catches him the moment he opens the door.

“Am I allowed now?”

Grantaire locks their mouths together instead of answering.

“Let’s have breakfast,” Enjolras says, “and after that I have something to show you.”

 

The Amis are scattered in the mansion, thus they only see Eponine in the kitchen, slipping food to Laelaps. A bright smile lights up her face when they come in.

“Congratulations, guys! You made the headlines.”

She pushes a newspaper towards them and indeed, the front page displays a large picture of Grantaire – Grantaire’s mop of curls, to be precise – and Bousquet. Their position leaves no doubt to what’s happening.

“I didn’t think they would post pictures,” Grantaire says. “Bousquet is so fucked.”

Eponine nods. “The story is in all the news. Everyone wonders who leaked it.”

“They can keep wondering,” Enjolras snickers, pouring two cups of tea.

“So,” Eponine tells Grantaire when they settle around the counter, “now that you’re officially staying with us, I’ll be glad to teach you all the perfect assassin’s tips.”

Grantaire chokes on his tea.

“Oh, uh… Thanks but… I’m not sure I want to become an assassin. I, well I don’t think I could. I can be the secretary, if you need one.”

“It’s a bit early to talk about it,” Enjolras replies, “but I’ve been thinking about something. It’s only a suggestion and we have plenty of time to discuss it.”

Now Grantaire starts worrying.

“What about becoming a forger?”

Worrying was justified.

“I don’t have the skills required to become a forger.”

“But you are so talented. The way you catch the light, the faces… even without a model.”

“E, there is a difference – what am I saying, there is a world – between painting a nice portrait and copying a masterpiece.”

“You can learn, R,” Eponine objects. “We know some people in this business who would love teaching someone as talented as you are.”

Grantaire doesn’t hate the idea. In fact it’s a rather exciting prospect, but he doesn’t feel up to the task. Enjolras takes his hand in his.

“Listen, we’re not trying to make money on your back.”

“I know,” Grantaire replies, and that was offending.

“But we are aware you will never agree to stay with us if you don’t feel like you’re contributing. This could be a way, and you wouldn’t have to kill anyone. You would be doing what you like. Also, what if potential clients like your work and want to see your original paintings? You could do what you wanted to do in the first place.”

“You say you have teachers?” Grantaire asks slowly. “This is not a yes, by the way.”

Enjolras and Eponine smile from ear to ear.

“Not in the academic sense of the word, but we know qualified people,” Enjolras confirms.

“I may consider it. Once I’m awaken and not starving.”

“Is that a way to ask for a slice of toast?” Enjolras says, chin propped up on his hands.

“Maybe.”

“Are you guys competing with Jehan and Courf to win the title of most sickeningly cute couple? Laelaps is going to throw up.”

“Laelaps already saw too much,” Grantaire replies, looking at the ceiling.

“Okay, I’ve had enough. Come Laelaps, your masters are disgusting. See you later, guys. Or not.”

Grantaire takes a sip of tea under Enjolras’ warm gaze.

“Where is this surprise you were talking about?”

“In the sports hall.”

Grantaire starts worrying again, but awe replaces worry when they get to the sports hall. In the middle of the room, between mats and fitness equipment, Enjolras set a rope for Grantaire to walk on, and a trapeze with a net under it.  
Grantaire stands in the middle of the room, not knowing what to say. Enjolras presses himself against his back, wrapping his arms around him.

“Do you remember when you told me you could walk on a rope?”

“It feels like it was ten years ago.”

“Hmm. You seemed so happy while you talked about it, and I’ve been such an ass at that time. I hope you like it.”

Grantaire is smiling so much his cheeks hurt. He takes Enjolras’ hand and drags him to the rope.

“I love it. Come on, if I’m to become a forger, you’ll become an acrobat.”

“No, Taire, that’s a bad idea, that’s the worst idea ever –”

From all these weeks spent with Enjolras, Grantaire knows that the only way to make him shut up is to kiss him.

 

“Are you two spying behind a door again?”

Jehan and Courfeyrac turn away from the keyhole to find Combeferre standing behind them.

“Have you ever experienced déjà vu, Ferre?” Courfeyrac asks.

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“This won’t feel like déjà vu,” Jehan replies, motioning for Combeferre to come closer. “R is teaching tightrope walking to Enjolras.”

“You don’t want to miss that, believe me,” Courfeyrac adds.

Combeferre glances towards each end of the corridor to make sure they are alone and bends between Courfeyrac and Jehan to look through the keyhole.

“Fine,” he whispers. “But not a word to the others.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, new chapter! Although I'm a bit sad it's almost over ;) Hope you enjoy!


	23. Epilogue

Two and a half years later

Inspector Javert flicks through the pages of the thick file in front of him, tense and excited at the same time. He always feels like this when he is about to close a case – and this one is a big case. Huge even.

“You can’t deny they did some good in their own way.”

Javert sighs. He would roll his eyes too, if his education didn’t forbid it.

“When your boss called me to the rescue a year ago, he didn’t mention I would have to work with a rookie,” he answers wrily.

The rookie in question – his partner, Louise – doesn’t raise her eyes from the file she is also reading through.

“It doesn’t make my point any less valid. The Amis are not regular criminals.”

“Here we agree.”

Javert turns another page, and finds a picture of the leader and his lover. He snorts at the thought. The picture was taken in a park when they started following the Amis. Grantaire – it took much more time than expected to find out his name and dig some info about him – is watching something with an excited smile on his face. Javert can’t remember what caused this, maybe some antics of that big white dog always by Grantaire’s side. It wasn’t important anyway. What is fascinating is the face of the leader, fierce and dead serious. He was glancing around, checking his surroundings, when Javert took the picture. At one point, Javert almost had the feeling the leader saw him.

“What caught your attention?”

Javert glares at Louise. Always so insistant and curious. Well, he can’t really blame her for it. He tends to be like this himself. Louise extends her arm and Javert hands her the picture. A soft smile stretches her lips when she looks at it.

“Ah, the lion protecting his mate,” she says.

“Don’t you have anything cheesier to say?”

“Call it what you want, that’s what he is doing. Moreover, I believe that’s what motivates his every move. They are quite romantic.”

Javert snaps the file close.

“Such a romantic couple indeed, charged with prostitution, murder, theft, blackmail, arms trafficking, and lately, forgery. Half of it perpetrated by the lion’s mate, for whom you seem to entertain an undying passion. Oh, I forgot they also destroyed a politician’s career. Feel free to declare your love when we see them tomorrow.”

“Mock me all you want,” Louise replies, “but that’s the key here. Everything Enjolras does, he does it for this man. Grantaire is his biggest weakness; he is our way to make Enjolras angry. Therefore, sloppy.”

“And this is an excellent example of why you are the rookie, and me your teacher. You want to make Enjolras angry, but with such a strategy, you will make him murderous and destructive, but not sloppy. If you want to win, you don’t strike one of them. You strike them both.”

 

Javert and Louise arrive first at the hotel room the leader of the ABC chose for their meeting. They’ve been preparing this operation for six months, since the moment they discovered a potential link between the ABC and amazing counterfeit paintings.  
Now, the two cops are posing as buyers and they will have a solid proof against the ABC as soon as they buy the painting they ordered. However, Javert insisted on not arresting them at the hotel. Enjolras chose a neighboroud within his territory. Armed cops would be spotted right away, and armed cops threatening the leader of the ABC and his lover would die within ten seconds. No, they will have to wait until the following morning. Louise helped discover the headquarters of the ABC, and they will arrest the whole gang at dawn. That’s the best way to be successful.  
For now, Javert and Louise are looking through the window of their room, watching Enjolras and Grantaire walking towards the hotel, the white dog – which looks more like a wolf – with them. Five minutes later, the door opens and they come in. Enjolras greets them with a nod, face unreadable. Grantaire gives them a wide smile, putting a large portfolio on the table. His scars are more impressive than on the pictures, and Louise takes a sharp breath.

“Miss, Sir,” Grantaire says while opening the portfolio, “your painting.”

Enjolras is standing a little behind Grantaire, hands in the pockets of his jacket. He tracks each of Javert’s movements. The white dog is sitting on the other side, next to Grantaire. Javert wonders which one – Enjolras or the dog – would attack first in case of trouble. Although Javert knows that Grantaire isn’t one to be underestimated.  
He lowers his eyes to the painting and can’t help the feel of admiration filling him. It’s breathtaking.

“The Cardsharps, by Caravaggio,” Grantaire says. “You have a great taste,” he adds, grinning at Javert.

“And you are incredibly skilled,” Louise declares. “It could be the original painting.”

She seems to have trouble refraining herself from touching the painting. Once again, Javert can’t blame her. Grantaire might be a criminal, but he is also a wonderful painter. 

“We have a deal,” Javert declares, and he hands Grantaire the suitcase containing the money. “Fifty thousands.”

They will retrieve the money soon enough. Grantaire takes the suitcase and gives them another warm smile.

“It was a pleasure to be doing business with you. If you happen to need another painting, don’t forget you’ll have a discount.”

“We like to express our gratitude to our best partners,” Enjolras adds, still as a statue.

He puts his arm around Grantaire’s shoulders and they turn on their heels, the dog walking next to Grantaire with his tail flapping from side to side.

“Wait,” Louise exclaims, “don’t you want to count the money?”

Grantaire turns his head just enough to look at her.

“No, we trust you,” he replies with a wink.

 

It is almost over. That’s what Inspector Javert tells himself when he walks into the police station. It is almost dawn, the squad sent to the mansion must already have apprehended the members of the ABC. Except Javert senses something is wrong. Everyone is buzzing around, and it is way too early for that. He represses a groan when Louise strides towards him, eyes wide.

“They escaped. All of them,” she tells him in a rush. “The mansion was empty.”

Clearly, she is trying to hide her excitement and that’s the icing on the damn cake. Javert pinches the bridge of his nose, when all he wants is to break something.

“How could that happen?” he asks.

“We don’t know yet. Perhaps they hacked our communication system, or they knew we were watching them. Both. Oh, and there was an envelope for you, I put it upon your desk.”

Javert goes to his office and slams the door behind him. The envelope is in the middle of his desk, his name written on it with big letters. He rips it open and discovers a picture. It’s one of Enjolras and Grantaire. The leader has his face buried in the wild curls of his lover, but the hint of a smile is still noticeable at the corner of his mouth, while Grantaire is blowing a kiss at the camera. Little shits. Javert turns the picture, and he reads aloud the sentence scribbled there.

“At least you have the painting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm done. I had a lot of fun writing this, and you guys made it even better! Thank you for the kudos, the nice comments and simply for reading :)  
> I might come back to this verse one day, since I have some ideas. It is still blurry and I need to put this aside for a moment, but if you have suggestions, I'm all ears ;)


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